


we are all going forward, none of us back

by thenightpainter



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreams, Flashbacks, Implied Sexual Content, James has PTSD, James is having a Bad Time, M/M, Many discussions of PTSD, Minor Violence, Mostly Canon Compliant, Not historically or academically accurate, Past abusive relationships with other characters, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, Some past James/other male characters, This gets a bit Silver Critical towards the end and he is not painted in a good light in this fyi, Thomas is a professor and a writer, some past James/Charles Vane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17013627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenightpainter/pseuds/thenightpainter
Summary: Thomas Harper has been having strange dreams. Being a history professor and an author working on his next book about queer pirates, he thinks nothing of them. A least, until he finds and interesting Captain Flint while conducting research. For some reason he can't let it go. The further he looks the more he dreams of this mysterious, beautiful redheaded man named James...(previously posted as "dust to dust")





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks also to comtessedebussy, my wonderful co-writer and The Instigator of Angst. She wrote some of the most emotional passages, contributed to much of the current plot (especially the angst), and helped with a lot of the important research for this story. She's also the reason this is actually getting done, so this is for her.
> 
> This was previously posted as "dust to dust," I have since made some major edits and essentially finished the story. I have decided to re-post it as a new one and keep the old one for archive purposes.

 “FROM THE MCQUEEN COLLECTION - LONDON FEBRUARY 2017.”

Thomas stares at the blurred words on the post he just walked into while reading off his phone. Thomas sighs, he picks up his now cracked reading glasses off the ground - his second pair this month. He knows he’ll never learn.

Thomas wipes the glass with his sleeve, sighing again. “Goddamnit,” he swears under his breath.

“Supposed to be quite impressive, works from all over the world,” a woman’s voice says from behind him.

“Huh?” Thomas turns.

“The National Portrait Gallery exhibit,” she says. She points at the poster he’d just walked into.

Thomas studies the text. “Oh yes. I imagine is will be,” he says.

“I always wonder about those collectors, how they manage to find all those pieces-”

“Lots of money probably,” Thomas answers. As a highly underfunded professor, Thomas finds it hard not to resent collectors with endless funds. “But at least it seems this one has the common decency to share such work with the public.”

“Fair, but perhaps it’s more out of pretension and egotism.”

“Always a possibility.”

She smiles. “I’m Amanda, by the way.”

“Thomas.”

“What do you do, Thomas. I’m curious now.”

“I’m a history professor at at UCL, 18th century literature. And a bit of an amateur writer-”

“Thomas, huh, you wouldn’t happen to be Thomas Harper, would you?”

“That’s the one.”

“Well, hardly an amateur then, honestly I’m quite the fan. Maybe a bit embarrassed that I tried flirting with you there.”

“It’s alright, I’m flattered, really.”

“Well have a good day then, Thomas.”

She walks off. Thomas couldn’t shake the feeling he knew her somehow.

Thomas glances down at his phone and broken glasses. _Goddammit, I’m late_ , he thinks.

~~~

“You’re late,” Jack says.

“I know, I know!” Thomas replies. The rushes to the table of the cafe on the corner of the UCL campus.

Thomas sits down across from the man wearing a floral shirt, with an embroidered vest and cravat. An equally elaborate coat is thrown over the chair behind him. Jack’s flamboyant outfit and the box’s ruggedness stand against the white walls and pale blue lines that made up the Cafe’s minimalist aesthetic.

Jack Richards was an old friend from college. They were quite close until Jack decided to become an archaeologist and move to the states.

“Oh sit down already, I already ordered for you.”

“I-”

“Earl Grey, blueberry scone. I remember.”

“Thank you. I can’t believe you brought this thing in person,”.

“Well, I don’t trust them enough to ship it intact. There are some very valuable letters in here, the collector wanted me to guard them with my life, and knowing the man, he was being literal. Besides, I missed London.”

“Alright.” Thomas took a sip of his tea.“Was it really London you missed? Are you sure this isn’t an elaborate excuse to come back here - oh I don’t know - check up on someone?”

“What? Can’t a man check up on his old mate from college?” Jack quips.

“You know I wasn’t talking about myself, Jack.” Thomas says.

“Well, you’ve got me there.” Jack sighs. “Thomas, you know I’ve only ever wanted for her to be happy. But I miss her so much.”

“I’m sure she’s missed you too.”

They remain silent as the waitress brings over their order.

“Since I’ve gone through all the trouble of procuring these documents for you, perhaps you wouldn’t mind finally telling me what this book is all about? I know you’ve been looking into pirates? Who is is about?” Jack asks. “Maybe Charles Vane and Calico Jack Rackham? Or perhaps Captain Flint, I imagine there’s quite a few mysteries there?”

“Well, I think Captain Flint’s story is quite well known, and so are those of the other two. I’m interested in the untold stories, the ones about Anne Bonny and Mark Read, as well as an interesting woman, Eleanor Guthrie, who wasn’t a pirate herself, but managed trade through Nassau for almost 10 years.”

“Oh wow, I’ve always wondered about those two. Please do send me a copy when it’s out, I hope I get a credit or acknowledgment somewhere for all the things I’ve been sending you.”

“Yes, you will, of course.” Thomas smiles.

Thomas glances back at his phone while Jack focuses intently on the TV in the corner. Thomas sorts through the hell that had taken up residence in his inbox ever since he had taken on this warship of a project was. Messages from publishers asking about the final draft, messages from El, as well as the usual countless emails from students asking questions that could easily be answered by looking through the syllabus.

This project was quite an undertaking, even for Thomas. His last book unearthed the queer history of renaissance painters. It was good that Thomas already had contact and people willing to support him, otherwise he’d never have sold the idea for this one, especially when it had literally come to him in a dream.

The majority of the work was now done, but the most challenging was yet to come and Thomas’ perfectionist was manifesting in searching for every available piece of evidence.

Thomas has been chasing the stories for so long, every detail he could back up was crucial. There was a particular woman, a tavern owner, he was trying to find more information about Everything he’s read has only documented her as “Max”. Although not much personal information about her was known, it seemed like she was the woman running Nassau behind the governor for some time. He was growing rather impatient at the thought of what the package might contain.

“Americans,” Jack scoffs at the TV.

Thomas turns to look at the screen. “What did they do this time?”

_“The fight broke out around 1:30 AM at The Lotus nightclub in Hell’s Kitchen. Witnesses aren’t entirely sure how the fight broke out or who had started it, but it wasn’t long before it turned into an all-out brawl. Three ambulances were sent to the scene and all but one man involved have been sent to the hospital.”_

“Aren't you one of them now? Doesn’t that sort of thing happened all the time where you live now?” Thomas asks. He still doesn’t know the reasons for Jack’s sudden choice to move to Georgia several years earlier.

“Oh yes, I told you about the fight I nearly got into last year didn’t I? If it wasn’t for Charles I’d never have made it out of there.”

“Yes, Jack, you’ve told me the stories.”

_“Well this has been a truly bloody Sunday night, the nightclub was forced to close down and it seems it will take some time to get the necessary repairs done. New sources tell us that all this started because of a comment on a man’s ring.”_

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Thomas, I’m off to have lunch with my ex-wife, her wife, and their girlfriend. Have a good day.” Jack announces.

~~~

The chill of the London air was invigorating. It is well into the afternoon and the department offices are nice and quiet, just as Tomas likes.

Thomas starts sorting the documents in the crate, laying them out on the table trying to arrange them in some sort of order. Everything is completely random, no attempt was made to try and organize and sort them properly. Of course, Thomas didn’t expected much from Jack in that regard. However, he was glad to see that they were all individually dated and well looked after, it seems that Jack has found himself a competent source.

Thomas kept reading through all the pages, trying to see if anything was at all relevant. He only stopped for a quick snack break and barely realized that the sun had started going down

A letter catches Thomas’ eye.

At first it didn’t seem like much, but somehow Thomas is drawn to it.

Part of it is gone, and much of the ink faded. Thomas curses again that his reading glasses are cracked.

> _“You told me about the place, the plantation you wanted to send me to. A place that wealthy families used to send troublesome members and make them disappear. I believe there may be someone there that may solve our problems, and put an end to this war. I cannot say much, but there may be a man held there who is very important to Flint, someone he thinks dead, who may make him give up this war.”_

The letter is signed by someone named John.

It makes Thomas wonder - Captain Flint was a rather interesting character, not much is known about the actual man, but Thomas really thought there was much about him to investigate. It’s the stories that everyone knows; a ruthless, bloodthirsty pirate that nearly all others were afraid of. He came out of nowhere, plagued the New World for over a decade and then disappeared again without a trace. Many recent developments have shown more evidence that he was of average height as opposed to some giant as the stories told. Other account describe him as having red hair and more tactical skills than any other pirate at the time. Some new - albeit somewhat controversial -  research pointed at the fact that he was more of a revolutionary, trying to start a war for freedom.

Thomas found, throughout his research, various mentions of Flint that seemed to point further towards the latter theory. He had some sort of arrangement with Eleanor Guthrie for building a future for Nassau.

Thomas knows well by now that history was written by the victors. That is part of the reason Thomas wants to try and uncover these lost stories.

But this - the letter he now holds - is something different.    

Thomas knows that he should focus on finishing his book - but something about this won’t let him go. An insatiable curiosity. It was through decades of experience that Thomas knows that if he doesn’t at least look into this, it would keep bothering him.

Opening his laptop, Thomas pulls up the files and the articles he came across regarding Captain Flint.

The captain was always been painted as this loathsome villain, to both the British Empire and to other pirates of the time. Thomas kept himself from making such assumptions until he knew more. Even as he reads about the acts of Captain Flint, he still can’t find himself coming to that conclusion.

There are two things that bother him: firstly, only a year or so into his ‘reign of terror’ Captain Flint murdered a man who had been traveling under an assumed name. Evidence and letter suggest that Flint had been hunting that ship for several months. The man in question, Alfred Hamilton, an earl, would have been of no interest to a pirate. The second concerned the burning of Charlestown. Most stories tell of Flint ransoming a girl by the name of Abigail Ashe and then somehow being captured and put on trial, only to later be rescued by Charles Vane. The timeline doesn’t add up. There must be more to that story.

Thomas only has one question on his mind now: _what happened in Charlestown_?

~~~

_Thomas found himself in a large bedroom, buried under luxurious blankets. The sheets felt incredibly smooth against his skin and he could feel the warmth of the gentle light shining in through the windows._

_“James, come back to bed. You can stay longer,” Thomas said softly, his hand reaching for the empty space in the bed beside him._

_“I’m afraid, my lord, that I’m going to be late,” he said from across the room._

_Thomas lifted his head to see him walking around the room, picking up clothing off the floor, his long red hair falling across his broad shoulders._

_“Perhaps, if you helped me- ” James stood to face Thomas, looking at him with a crooked smile and soft eyes._

_“Oh, alright,” Thomas said as he stood from the bed, still rather reluctant to leave its warmth._

_Thomas picked up a shirt and handed it to him. He then found the navy blue hair ribbon on the dresser._

_“Let me start with this,” he began as he approached James and carefully started gathering his beautiful red hair. With one hand he brushed it to the side and kissed James’ neck._

_“Thomas-” James began, then let out a soft moan._

_James moved down to James shoulder, then finally let him go. He reluctantly proceeded to tie the ribbon. “There you go. I do suppose that I must let you go, James.”_

_“Yes,” James turned and cupped Thomas’ face in his hand and kissed him gently, “but I’ll be back right after the meeting.”_

_“I suppose that’s alright,” he replied._

_“Thomas-”_

 

“Thomas! Thomas, wake the fuck up!”  

He opens his eyes to see El staring down at him (the disgruntled assistant professor that shares the next door office and has grown to be one of his closest friends).

“I’m sorry, El, I seem to have just-” he tries to explain.

“Lost track of time, yeah I can see that. You can’t keep doing this. For fuck’s sake, Thomas! I worry about you sometimes,” she scolds.

“Once the book is done, I’ll try-”

“Well, it doesn’t look like you were doing research for your book does it?” She gestures at notes on Captain Flint that now cover the desk.

“Oh, this, I, uh-” Thomas has no excuse.

“Right, here, I brought you coffee, I think you’re going to need it.” She says, handing him the mug. “What was that all about by the way? You were talking in your sleep, asking someone not to leave?”

“Oh yeah, I had one of the dreams again. About the man, James.”

“Ah, the mystery ginger, was your dream wife whose name you don’t even know in this one, too?” she says.

“No, not in this one,” Thomas replies. He thinks back to the woman with long brown hair who joins some of his dreams with James.

“Are you sure you don’t know either of these people?” El asks. She gathers some of the papers in an effort to help with mess on his desk.

“No, definitely not. If I knew someone who looked like that I’d remember.” Thomas takes a sip from the mug. “And anyway, the clothing I’m in, the things they wear, he’s in a British Navy uniform, it’s always from the early 18th century.”

“Ah, forbidden love. Maybe that’s the book you should be writing. A married lord falls in love with a navy man.”

“Interesting thought, but you know I’ve never been good at writing fiction.”

“Well, suit yourself.” She pauses in the doorway. “Oh, one more thing, my friend does this queer stories podcast and want to interview you, would you be up for that?”

“Sounds good, get her to email me,” Thomas answers.


	2. Chapter 2

_He stood on edge of a small beach surrounded by rocks. It was a warm spring morning, but the sun was covered by clouds as it always was in this part of the country. There was a soft pink glow along the horizon. The water was fairly calm, but scattered clouds loomed in the background._

_Thomas turned to face the man standing beside him. James hadn’t bothered to pull his hair back that day and it was free to blow in the soft breeze. He was quite the vision against the bleak landscape, the contrast of his red hair and his loose white shirt clinging to his frame. He was so beautiful, even if he was now badly trying to conceal a yawn. Neither of them had exactly slept well the night before but Thomas wanted to show him this place._

_“James, there’s no one around for miles, come on, let's go for a swim,” Thomas said, reaching a hand out to him._

_“Well, except Miranda,” James said, with a smug grin. “Can’t imagine she’s particularly pleased with us after last night.”_

_“And that is why we are letting her sleep in late this morning. Now come on, or are you scared of the cold water?”_

_“Certainly not, my lord,” James said before taking his shirt of and folding it near the rocks. His boots soon followed._

_When they both had gotten rid of their clothing, Thomas took his hand and they waded into the water together. When the water was at their waists Thomas was starting to realize that the water was far colder than he imagined._

_“Oh, is there a problem, my lord?” James asked, rather smugly, noticing Thomas slight discomfort._

_“Well, it’s rather cold,” Thomas replied._

_James smiled. “Well, you’re the one that dragged me out of our warm bed and into the ocean. Now come on.”_

_He turned to face Thomas, turning his back to the sea, pulling Thomas further into the deep. Thomas took a step forward and closed the space between them, his hands traveled along James’ body. He was so warm. Thomas pulled him in closer until they both had their arms around each other._

_James hand brushed up against Thomas face, and found its way along the back to his neck to pull him into a kiss. In that moment Thomas forgot about the cold water._

_He pulled back to take a look at James, his long hair was getting all wet, falling around his shoulders and sticking to his face. Thomas couldn’t help but reach forward and brush a strand out of James’ face, tucking it behind his ear._

_That moment, it started raining and they had quickly ran out of the water, grabbing their clothing, putting on what they could, and ran back to the house. Thomas managed to lose his shirt in the process and neither of them enjoyed the prospect of going back out to look for it._

_They were both soaked by the time they reached the doorstep, more so than when they were in the sea, it seemed. They entered the house, both laughing about the dreadful timing of the rainstorm as._

_“Well, well,” Miranda said, coming to welcome them with towels, undoubtedly having heard them approaching the house. “I had wondered where you two had gotten off to. It was oddly quiet this morning, I was almost concerned.” She smiled._

_She took a moment to study them. Thomas wearing only a pair of breeches with his shoes, and James in only a shirt with nothing else on but his boots. “Now you two better dry off and stop dripping water all over my house.”_

Thomas wakes suddenly to his alarm. The sun is way up in the sky now. It is strange waking up in his own bed, in his own apartment. Much to El’s dismay Thomas has been camped out in his office nearly every other night now after falling asleep reading.

He stands up and glances around the apartment. Thomas sighs. The place is so sad compared to the places of his dreams. Thomas tried to decorate a bit, early on but it felt empty, not like a home at all.

He hates the solitude - not from people, but rather from the world. From books, stories, and from the research the he is doing.

Thomas knows letting his mind wander on it’s own for too long is never a good idea.

He stares out the window. It’s hardly a view, just another apartment tower across the way. Three potted plants sit on the windowsill. One is brown, the other two still, miraculously, cling to life. Thomas picks up the water jug and pours some water into all three.

Thomas turns to go to the bathroom.

As he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror - at his messy hair and old t-shirt with a few too many holes around the collar - his mind wanders back to his dreams. This dream was even stronger than the last, they used to come and go, but now he was having them every night and in greater detail.

He can’t shake the images of James from his head. He can remember everything; the _feeling_ , the soft touches and lips against his skin. The curls of James’ hair wrapped around his fingers, the tension of it as he pulled James head back, the freckled skin he’d kissed…

What was he thinking? He was a history professor, writing _two_ books now, waking up past noon and day dreaming about being an English lord having a passionate affair with a naval officer.

The book, yes, that’s what he needs to think about. Thomas managed to wrap things up on the book over the last several days.

It’s almost done, he should be pleased. Still, Thomas feels there’s something missing.  

~~~

Sitting on his desk, Thomas finds a rather badly burned book and a pile of scanned documents. Putting on gloves, Thomas takes a closer look at the book. He is happy to find that although its cover hasn’t fared well, the inside of the book remains intact.

It’s written in a beautiful cursive, but unfortunately no exact date is given.

Reading the first entry, Thomas realizes that this is a journal written by Abigail Ashe.

He reads through it until he finds what he is looking for. The first direct mention of Flint.

> “ _I will never forget the stories Father told me of the dreadful Captain Flint, a man who killed without mercy or reason. He spoke of such horrors committed by pirates, yet here I find myself on a ship with them and I do not see the monsters he described. Instead, I see men who were failed by civilization._ “

This lines up with all his research so far. Thomas flips forward several passages.     

> “ _I spend my time sitting with Miranda Hamilton, an old friend of Father’s. She was always kind to me, back in London she played with me and we hid in the library together during one of Mother’s parties. She always had so much to say about not letting others’ talk get to me. Here I find myself, in the setting of one of my father’s tales only to find none of the horrors he warned of._ ”

The name catches his attention, _Miranda Hamilton_. It was curious, Hamilton, as in Alfred Hamilton, that can’t be a coincidence.

> “ _He introduced himself to me as James McGraw, and I thought that perhaps I had heard that name before. Now thinking back I remember seeing him as a child, in the Hamiltons’ residence. He was once a navy lieutenant, and now a pirate ship captain. He was nothing but kind to me and I wonder, how did these tales of Captain Flint ever start?  Could it be that the story was just some spin on a far more complicated truth that the world simply could not accept?_ ”

_James McGraw_ , Thomas feels a chill as he runs his fingers over the name again. Finding Captain Flint’s name is a revelation in itself, but there is something else about it that called out to him.

Thomas knows is must be simply coincidence, and yet - _James_ , who was also a former naval officer.

“Everything alright in here?” El says, coming into the office, “I haven’t heard from you in awhile, just wanted to check in to make sure you aren’t dead.”

“Yes, yes, fine. I uh, just found something interesting, come look at this,” he answers.

“A journal?” She walks over to stand behind him, looking at the book.

“This belonged to Abigail Ashe when she was aboard Captain Flint’s ship”

“Ah, still on that fucking Captain Flint obsession I see.” She then leans over to point at one of the names. “Oh that’s interesting, _James_.”

“Yes, I believe that was is Captain Flint’s real name, James McGraw.”

“James.” She gives him a look.

“It’s a very common name, El. So is _Eleanor_ , for that matter, and I didn’t bring that up.”

“Alright, fine, but now this would make for an interesting romance novel. The pirate captain in love with an English lord.”

“Yes, well perhaps you should write it if you’re so fascinated by the topic.”

“Well, it’s your dream.”

“But, I do want to see if I can get some information on one. An old family, The Hamiltons, particularly two named Alfred and Miranda.”  


~~~

Thomas is known to be in good spirits despite setbacks and sleepless nights. Today, however, is not going to be one of those days.

On his was to the office Thomas even contemplated having a cup of coffee, or three.

“Good morning- oh maybe not?” El greets.

“Good morning.”

“Yes, right, well, you’re going to love this. You should take a seat,” She stood up to face him and pulled out her notebook.

Reluctantly, Thomas sits behind his desk.

“So you had me research the Hamilton family...”

“Yes...”

“Well, Alfred Hamilton was the Earl of Ashbourne, he was killed by Captain Flint in 1707. Miranda Hamilton was his daughter-in-law. Now this is intriguing, in 1705 the admiralty appointed a liaison to the Hamilton family by the name of James McGraw.”

“That’s-”

“Yes. Hold on, it gets even more interesting. James McGraw and Miranda Hamilton disappeared from London in early 1706. It was rumoured that they were having an affair. Miranda’s husband, Alfred’s eldest son, was committed to Bethlem hospital after learning of this affair-”

“What was his name?” Thomas asks, growing impatient.

“This is the fucking odd part - the son’s name, it was Thomas Hamilton.”

“I- I’m not sure what...”

“Have you ever read about any of this before?” El asks.

“No, this is the first time I’ve heard about any of this.”

“Well, Thomas Hamilton and James McGraw were fighting to introduce a new plan for New Providence island when this all happened. James McGraw was discharged from service shortly before leaving London. Somehow, I think there’s more to that story.”

“Thomas Hamilton, what happened to him? Did he-”

“He died. In the hospital, several months before Alfred was murdered. You’re sure you didn’t know about any of this, not even just glanced over something while researching?” El said. A concerned look crossed her face. “It’s just, those dreams you were talking about, it’s more than a coincidence- ”

“I know, El. I don’t know what to make of it.”

He sits in silence for a while, trying to process. Eventually El leaves him to his research. Everything she found only further aligns with the events of Thomas’ dreams.

But El was wrong about one thing: Thomas Hamilton did not die there. Thomas feels it. Thomas knows it, but he isn’t sure _why_ yet.

He pulls up the letter again.

There has to be something, some sort of proof, on paper, that this all isn’t some sort of exhaustion-induced madness.

Or perhaps Thomas is going mad, either way he has to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**[THREE MONTHS LATER]**

Thomas feels completely out of place. Loud music plays in the background and the same news about the traffic and some sort of fight breaking out in New York plays on repeat on a small TV in the corner. Neon signs advertise this or that beer, and a few too many people take bets around a pool table. 

This isn’t at all how Thomas usually spends a Friday night; sitting in a booth at the nearby pub with El and two of her friends whose names he didn’t catch.

There is something in Georgia. Three months of research and waiting for all the madness with the book release to die down has led up to this. 

Jack found letters documenting a man by the name of Thomas arriving at a specific plantation around 1707. As well as several records of someone named Hamilton arriving at the port on a ship from London days earlier. 

Thomas’ latest book,  _ Buried Treasure: The Untold Story of Queer Pirates _ , has been out in stores and online for a little over a week, and is gathering quite some attention already. He has one last interview before he can finally travel to Savannah. 

“So, I hear you’re writing a book, Thomas, was it?” the man who introduced himself as Woods asks - Thomas isn’t sure if that’s a nickname or not.

“Rogers, I’ve told you about his book ten fucking times! It was just released last week, or don’t you listen to anything I say?” El accuses. Her tone softens as she turns to Thomas. “How are you doing? You’ve been oddly quiet, I invited you out to celebrate remember?”

“I’m just tired, I suppose,” he answers. She was right, he should be far more excited about everything. Yet this story, or whatever it was, of Thomas Hamilton and James McGraw will not let him rest - quite literally with all the dreams he’s been having. 

Dreams aside, there’s still no proof to support any of it. Thomas isn’t one to give up easily, tracking down the story of Max the tavern owner is evidence to that. 

The other two sitting with them leave, opting to go try their hand at the pool table.

“I’m going to see Jack in Savannah on Tuesday,” Thomas says. 

“Wait, what? What about your book, you have interviews, and don’t you have to submit the syllabus for your class by the end of the month? And what about the PEN conference in New York in two weeks?”

“It’s already done, and I’ll be gone for two weeks at most, I’ll fly right out to New York after. I never use my vacation anyway and have miles I never use. I need to figure this out, El.”

“Yes, but you aren’t going on vacation! You’re just going there because Jack found some old book and what, two old pieces of paper with half a name on them?”

“Well, there’s more than that. El, I need to see this place, you know how this whole thing has been bothering me.”

“I suppose. Just don’t forget about your interview with Maxine on Monday!”

~~~

_ Thomas lay in bed, wearing nothing but his shirt. He read aloud from the book in front of him, and occasionally looking up at James who sat just out of arm’s reach at the foot of the small bed. _

_ “For with what art thou discontented? With the badness of men? Recall to thy mind this conclusion, that rational animals exist for one another, and that to endure is a part of justice, and that men do wrong involuntarily; and consider how many already, after mutual enmity, suspicion, hatred, and fighting, have been stretched dead, reduced to ashes; and be quiet at last.” Thomas read aloud. He was in James’ small apartment. Though he was sure James read through the entire book at least once, he couldn’t help but read some of it to him again. _

_ Thomas had to pause from reading, he looked up at James, his back was bare and Thomas still couldn’t help but be amazed by the constellations of freckles that covered his body. _

_ “What is is?” James said, looking back towards him. _

_ “Nothing, my love,” Thomas replied. _

_ James turned, spreading out on the small bed, his head coming to rest on Thomas’ chest. _

_ “Shall I continue?” Thomas asked, wrapping his free hand around James. _

_ “Yes, please do.” _

_ Thomas’ eyes turned back to the book and he continued reading. “See how soon everything is forgotten, and look at the chaos of infinite time on each side of the present, and the emptiness of applause, and the changeableness and want of judgement in those who pretend to give praise, and the narrowness of the space within which it is circumscribed,” he read on, brushing through James hair.“...all these things, which thou seest, change immediately and will no longer be; and constantly bear in mind how many of these changes thou hast already witnessed. The universe is transformation: life is opinion.” _

Thomas wakes up, recognizing the passage immediately. He read that book cover to cover on several occasions. Thomas was always drawn to it, ever since he read it in his third year of college. Now it’s in his dreams too. Now he wonders what was it that made him so drawn to them in the first place.

He checks his phone, realizing what day it is. His interview is this morning and then he’ll be on his way to Savannah for some answers.

~~~

“So tell me, Thomas, what inspired you to write this, or rather, focus on pirates this time? From what I understand this isn’t your usual period of interest, your last book focused on several artista?” Maxine the host asks.

“Well, I suppose I was always kind of fascinated with them as a child, all the sword fights and the life at sea, without the rule of England. But I think it came down to my fascination with telling the untold stories. I think, with pirates especially, we all have certain ideas and misconceptions,” Thomas replies. “Most people have this idea of big terrifying men who drink rum and just take what they like. While it was not at all like that, they had their own form of society, one that was far more accepting of people that didn’t fit in. For the most part it was a democracy, with equal shares for all crew members. Something that’s not brought up often, is that pirates had their own form of gay marriage.”

“Yes, many forgotten stories there. Now, I’ve read your books myself, but I’m sure some of the listeners haven’t. Can you tell us more about some pirates you discuss?”

“Well, not just about pirates, in fact there are two women that weren’t actually pirates themselves, but played a large role in their world. Eleanor Guthrie managed trade in and out of Nassau for around a decade, and started at the age of seventeen.”

“Yes, the Queen of Thieves, as many are calling her now.” Maxine laughs.

“Yes, my friend Jack actually came up with that. He’s the one that got me interested in the story of Anne Bonny in the first place.” Thomas is pleased that the nickname was catching on.

“Now, the other woman, simply known as Max, what can you tell us about her?”

“Oh she is really interesting, but tracking down information on her was quite the challenge, I could never get a last name. She was the daughter of a slave owner who started out working in a brothel, later to find herself controlling everything that happened in Nassau from behind the scenes.”

“How exactly did you learn about her?”

“As I mentioned previously, I started researching Anne Bonny and her relationship with Mary Read and somehow managed to come across several love letters. They came from someone by the name of Max, and honestly at first I thought it was a man, but upon further investigation I found more and more about her. Other letters also suggest an earlier relationship between her and Eleanor Guthrie.”

“Such a fascinating story, and completely erased from history, we don’t even have a last name! Anyway, before we end this episode, may I ask about what you’re planning for your next project?” she asks.

“Well, I’m not quite done with pirates yet. I’ve been researching something new, and I won’t go into detail, but it certainly is a story that hasn’t been told before,” Thomas replies. He isn’t sure why he said that -  he still has no idea what he’s going to do with this new interest.

“Well, thank you so much for sharing Thomas, it was a pleasure.”

“Oh it was an honour, thank you for having me.”

Maxine flicks a switch and the go off air.

“I’m always happy to meet authors who are so dedicated to telling the stories of queer people, especially those who have been brushed under the rug by history. I’d be happy to have you back on here again sometime soon,” she says. “I really enjoyed this book, all your earlier ones too. I actually managed to get my wife to read this one, she won’t stop talking about it, and I can never get her to read anything! She’s quite inspired by Anne Bonny’s story.”

“Thank you, again. I’m glad you two enjoyed it, can I sign a copy for you two? It’s the least I can do.”

“Yes, that would be great, here I have ours,” she hands Thomas her copy of the hardcover edition.

“Who should I make the inscription out to?”

“Max and Anne,” she answers.

Maxine smiles. 

Thomas looks over at her and studies her face. 

“Our nicknames for each other,” she adds.

“Ah.”

For a moment that went as quick as it came, Thomas wondered if he wasn’t alone in his madness. 

~~~ 

Thomas returns to his office to get some things before going home to pack for Savannah. There are at least three books gathering dust on his desk, and with the flight, Thomas hopes to finally read them.

“Oh Thomas, before you go, a man called, said his name was Marsh. He saw the interview earlier, he wanted to speak to you,” El asks, catching him on his way out. 

“Already? What did he want?” Thomas asks.

“He didn’t say exactly, he just mentioned your book and said he wanted to speak to you, he said he was in New York.” She tries to hand him the note.

“Can it wait? I shouldn’t be longer than two weeks. Tell him I’ll be away and give him my email if he has questions.”

“Fine.” She sighs.

“Oh and El? You’ve got my spare key, could you water my plants?”

“Thomas, I think your fucking plants died a long time ago, but alright.”

“Thank you!”

“Good luck on your wild goose chase, or whatever this is.”

~~~

On the plane Thomas starts having nightmares.

First there is pain and then there’s this endless heat. He’s digging at the ground for what feels like years. He doesn’t remember the details - just the misery. 

The woman sitting next to him wakes him up. Apparently he was yelling in his sleep.

Thomas begins to think he’s losing his mind, remembering and piecing together this life of Thomas Hamilton. 

Thomas never believed in past lives or anything like that, but that is starting to seem like the only explanation.

~~~

_ He was standing in a cane field.  _

_ He was wearing all white, a shovel in his hand. There were other man around him, working the land.  _

_ Suddenly Thomas turned around, looking to see a man heading towards him. Thomas could not make out his features yet, but he was wearing all black. A stark contrast to everyone else around him. _

_ Thomas began to fear, but then he noticed the apprehension in the other man’s step.  _

_ Thomas looked closer, squinting in the sunlight.  _

_ The man’s head was shaved, and on his face, a beard. The colour, however, seemed familiar.  _

_ When Thomas caught a glimpse of the man’s face, his heart froze. He couldn’t be sure if this was real, but no ghost that haunted him in his dreams ever took this form.  _

_ Thomas dropped his shovel. His eyes met the other man’s, the shade of green-blue he had almost forgot.   _

_ He was so close now, he didn’t care if it was real. _

_ He fell into the man’s embrace. Shock hit him when they touched, his hands grabbing onto those shoulders. He was real.  _

_ James was real. And he was here. In Thomas’ arms.  _

_ Everything else - the pain, the sun, the heat - faded away. _

“Good Evening ladies and gentlemen. We are about to begin our descent into sunny Savannah. Would you please fasten your seat belts. The local...”

Thomas wakes suddenly. The looks out the window of the plane to see the ocean. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“So, you were rather cryptic about why you wanted to see this place, what exactly are you looking for, chasing another story?” Jack inquires.

Thomas slams the door of Jack’s Jeep behind him as he climbs in. 

“Yes, actually,” Thomas responds. There’s no hiding from Jack’s curiosity. Especially now with all the phone calls and odd requests over the last couple of months.

“Ah. Mind enlightening me?”

“Well, I’ve found some information that might shed some light on the story of Captain Flint,” he answers.

“Oh, Captain Flint, I know I guy who’s obsessed him, a rather odd fellow.”

Thomas has encountered Flint fans himself, though he wonders what they would think if they knew the things that Thomas did. “Well, I think my take is rather different, not so much about the pirate, or the legend, but the man himself who existed before and after Captain Flint,” Thomas ventures on.

“Ah, have you found anything? Is that who this Thomas Hamilton is?” 

“No.”

“Then how does he come into the story?”

“Well, to say the least, he was Captain Flint’s lover.” Thomas isn’t going to lie about the story he was looking into, but neither is he going to tell Jack that he thinks that might have been Thomas Hamilton in a past life.

“Well, that is certainly a different take. Are you going to tell me more?”

“No, not until I piece more of the story together.” 

“Alright, guess I’ll have to wait. Here it is, on the right, the plantation.” 

As they drove up to the plantation, Thomas feels a chill. He recognizes the place immediately. Jack parks as close as they can before the road ends. 

They walk up the path leading to the main building and were greeted by an older man.

Jack starts talking with him while Thomas lingers behind him, taking in the place. Since the place has become a sort of museum there was far more colour, flowers and trees of all sorts. Thomas thinks about the green of the cane and the grey of the dirt, day in and day out for almost a decade.

Looking back toward the entrance, Thomas envisions where the tall, gated fence was. It’s all gone now - not a trace remains. Funny, as those gates were exactly what kept Thomas Hamilton and so many other men from walking out of this place. 

Thomas feels angry. About the whole concept of this place, and about the fact that there were likely many others like it. He turns away he walks up the path to rejoin Jack. 

“This place, for a while was in fact used by many English families to send people that they wanted disappeared, for a time, that was,” the older man continues.

“Do you have logs, accounts of all the men that were held here from around 1706?” Thomas asks him, interrupting. 

“Well, they didn’t keep good records and understandably the identity of the men was to be kept secret.”

“Yes, well I’m looking for any mention of a Thomas Hamilton, if that’s possible.”

“Well, we only have the one log from 1707 where someone named Thomas is mentioned arriving, Jack asked about it already.” The old man wasn’t pleased with Thomas. 

“And there isn’t anything else, records of him leaving?” Thomas insists.

“I’m afraid that if there were, they must have been lost in the fire.”

“What fire?” Thomas doesn’t remember reading about this particular detail. He knows that something about the plantation changed by 1720, it was no longer a prison, but the records were never clear. There wasn’t any mention of what had happened to the prisoners.        

“There was a fire here in 1716, in fact this is the only building that survived, and most of it needed to be rebuilt,” the man tells him. 

Thomas started putting it all together. “Oh is that so?” He smiles. 

“Yes, at the time nearly all the prisoners had escaped. They arranged an attack, burning most of the place and stole most of the owner's possessions, valuables, money -  even his books.”

Thomas couldn’t help but start laughing. 

“I’m sorry, but did you say books?” Jack asks.

“Yes, the then owner had a bit of a library, and much of it was stolen along with several logbooks, there’s clear record of that.” The man gives Thomas a stern look. “I’m sorry but why is this so amusing to you, the owner lost nearly everything?”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas tries. 

“Okay, I think it’s time we go. Thank you,” Jack says. He leads Thomas back to the car. “Should I even ask?” 

“No,” Thomas says, He smiles. 

~~~

_ The flame of the torch glowed, it’s bright reflection brought a whole other glint to James’ eyes. Thomas now understood the hundreds and thousands of men that told tales of him, that feared him.  _

_ Thomas saw it now, and he was more in love with James than ever. That flame, that spark, was what he first saw in James, what he loved about him, and not it burned so brightly for him.  _

_ “I think the honour should be yours,” James says. He smiled wickedly, handing the torch to Thomas. _

_ His heart pounded. The near decade he’s spent here, Thomas wanted nothing more than to burn this place down - sometimes even with himself inside.  _

_ But not his James was here, offering that wish on a silver platter. He understood.  _

_ Thomas took torch and threw it at the house.  _

_ Given the dry season and the oil they’d thrown earlier, the flame soon enveloped the building.  _

_ Soon after, with Thomas’ call to battle, the whole row of buildings ignited into flames.  _

_ Thomas grabbed James’ hand and they ran. _

Thomas wakes with a smile. 

“So that’s what happened,” he whispers to himself.

He rolls over, sighs, and falls back asleep. 

~~~  

Thomas looks at the poor state of the hotel room he’s been staying in the last couple of days. 

Copies of documents are all over the small desk, maps are splayed on the floor, various notes are scattered everywhere.

Thomas barely left the room except to get food and to visit the nearby museums and libraries. Despite trying to adjust to the local time, he still slept at odd hours. 

Thomas blocked out all attempts at communication with his normal life, only responding to several messages from El checking up on him.

In a desperate attempt he decides to call Jack again. 

“There has to be more of what you sent me, where did all of it come from in the first place?” Thomas insists.   

“I don’t think there’s anything else I can get you,” Jack sighs. He’s displeased about Thomas’ call so early in the morning. “Most of what I sent you was in archives and before that found in an old house when the original owners sold it around five years ago.”

“Can I see the house, is there any way I can see anything else, can you contact the owner?” A house. That makes Thomas wonder. 

“Everything else found in it are in a private collection now, it’s just a bunch of books and some junk from what I hear, I doubt any of it will help you.” 

Perhaps among those books is exactly what Thomas is looking for. “Is there any way I can see them, and what about the house?” 

“Oh, I doubt he’ll let you see it, he almost never lets anyone go near that place. Besides, it’s old, empty and out in the middle of nowhere, don’t think anyone lives there now.” Jack responds. He pauses and sighs. “Perhaps I can get in touch with his assistant, I’ll see what I can do about seeing those books, but I doubt anything will come of it.” 

“Alright, thanks Jack.”

Thomas doesn’t press on about the house. Can it be the same house as the one in his dreams? He remembers the place clearly. He could probably find the location is he tried…


	5. Chapter 5

_ It seemed like a good idea. There was no one around for many miles and Thomas wanted to explore their new home in the dark, to see the beach in moonlight and bask in his new freedom under the stars. James certainly wasn’t opposed to the idea.   _

_ They took two lanterns out with them, in an attempt to light their way down to the sand. The air was warm, crickets were chirping all around them. Thomas had long since grown familiar with their sound after years at the plantation, but they sounded different, as if they felt free here too. _

_ He followed James down the path to the water. James set his lantern down on the sand and began taking his boots off. _

_ “Care for a swim?” he asked. _

_ Thomas had not had the opportunity to take a swim in eleven years, in fact the last time was with James and he had been the one doing the convincing. _

_ “Sounds like a splendid idea.” Thomas followed him in removing his shoes. He reached out to take James’ hand and they walked down the beach, looking up at the sky. _

_ They walked for a little while, Thomas admiring the light reflecting in James eyes and the way his hair was starting to grow out. _

_ They waded out until the water was up to their knees, he could tell James was rather hesitant about this now, a sudden tearful look in his eye as he turned to face Thomas. They were facing each other now, this was so different from the last time, standing alone in the dark with a clear sky above, not the slightest indication of rain. The water warm against his legs and only a slight breeze. James’ hair was gone and he was dressed in black. They were both silent, no witty remarks from James. Thomas grew more aware of the fact that there would be no one to welcome them, to hand them towels and scold them for running off. _

_ He stepped forward to reach his arms around James. They stayed like that for a moment before returning to the sand to sit together, deciding that perhaps they’d put aside the swim for another day.      _

_ They sat there, leaning on each other, shoulder to shoulder, both undoubtedly thinking about all the time they’d missed. It was peaceful in a way, the silence and solitude, far away from the rest of civilization.   _

~~~

Google Maps is quite the blessing. Thomas sits in his hotel room, browsing the satellite view of the general area. He searches further south along the coast, away from Savannah and the plantation, on a half island that’s well inhabited now. It doesn’t take long before he spots it, just barely showing between the trees. It’s still on a large property of land as he remembers.

He chuckles when he sees the street address. It’s near the intersection of Hamilton Road and James Avenue - now that certainly can’t be a coincidence.

~~~

It’s still mid-morning when Thomas takes a cab out towards the house.Thomas feels different, more hopeful. 

Shadows dance along the road as the light filtered through the tall trees and long Spanish moss that grows that hangs down off them. Everything feels somehow soft, and the air fresh. Thomas takes it all in as he looks out window of the cab.

Thomas gets out near the local gathering of shops and decides he would walk the rest of the way.

He finds the street he was looking for, the road has long since been paved over and the trees on either side are tall. Thomas remembers walking down it for the first time, when those trees were only several feet high and there was no cover from the sun.

When he finds the way to the house, Thomas is met by a gate. The fence obscures most of the property - a recent development. Thomas is happy to see the place so well maintained, but it poses a problem. He walks around the property looking for a place where the fence wasn’t as high. He finds that the fence gives way to an old stone wall on one side, and he climbs. It isn’t the first illegal thing Thomas has done, certainly not in this lifetime, and he needs to see the house.  

When Thomas reaches the house he notices that several repairs have been done, the outside recently painted in the white tone that Thomas remembers so well. Conveniently, the latch on the back door hasn’t been properly fixed yet. Thomas lifts the lock and enters the house. 

Walking into a narrow hallway is a strange experience for Thomas. The house is completely empty now - what furniture remains is covered with sheets. Soft light fills the place through the uncovered windows and everything is soft and muted. It’s almost as if he was in two places at once; walking through the house as it is now and remembering what it was like to do the same, three hundred years ago.

Slowly Thomas walks around the place, the floor creaks beneath his feet. Everything is familiar - the same shape of the house despite the new painted walls and the refinished floor. A whole new section of the house was built on and there are many modern features but somehow it still has the same feelings - the same comfort.

Memories start coming back to him - and that’s what they feel like now, not dreams. Sitting at a table in one of the rooms across from James. Curling up together on the floor in front of the fire, kisses in the doorways.

Carefully Thomas creeps up the stairs to the bedroom. It’s completely empty now but Thomas recalls the white curtains and how they let light in on summer mornings. And how that used to make James’ hair glow. He feels the memories of slow mornings together and of reading way too late into the night, of Thomas not wanting to wake James in the morning, letting him sleep in peace after all his years of fighting.

Thomas sits on the floor for a moment and feels himself start to weep - for the life he once had and the one that James had and all the things they had lived through. 

He still doesn’t know how the story continues,  and what had happened to his James.

Thomas wonders,  _ could there be a chance? Could it be possible that he might be reunited with him again after three hundred years? Would he look the same, would he remember too? What kind of life would James lead now? _ This is all, of course, if James had been given a new life too.   

~~~

Thomas isn’t sure how long he spent sitting there, it could have easily been hours. 

He gets off the floor and decides it is best he leave the place now.

Leaving the house, Thomas stops to look back. He takes a deep breath, calming himself.  _ At least _ , Thomas thinks, _ I’m not going crazy. It was all real. _ Although, that might just be worse.

Taking one last round around the property, Thomas recalls where the garden had been. Some flowers are planted there now, but no other signs remain. He sighs and climbs back over the fence and begins his walk back into the city.

The sun is starting to set and Thomas realizes that amidst his excitement about the house, he hadn’t charged his phone. 

He finds his way into the small town about a mile away.

Thomas walks into a gas station hoping to be able to call a cab back to his hotel in Savannah. 

He starts talking with the cashier. A large man with long hair approaches him. He’s still several inches shorter than Thomas, but with his build and dark attire, Thomas finds him intimidating.

“I can give you a ride back into town,” he says.

“Really?” Thomas asks, scanning the other man’s face.

“Yeah. It’s Charles, by the way.”

“I’m - ” 

“Thomas, Jack’s friend, I’ve seen photos, he mentioned you were in town.” He smiles. 

Thomas connects the dots. “Oh, so you must be Charles Vance the famous treasure hunter!”

“Hardly. I’m mostly doing research these days.”

Thomas thanks the clerk and follows Charles to his truck.

“So, what brought you here?” he asks Thomas as they drive away.

“Well, it’s a long story, and I imagine Jack has told you quite a bit. I guess you can say I’m chasing the Captain Flint story.”

“So, that’s true. You know there was another guy here, about five or six years ago who was interested in Flint.”

“Really? He was interested in Flint and looking for something around these parts, did he find something?”

“I don’t know, he was an asshole, fancy accent, wild look in his eye, always avoiding questions, he never told me anything. We even got in a fight, he hit me pretty good. In fact, I have quite a few scars thanks to him” Charles answers. He’s clearly not a fan of this man. “Then again, he did give me a tip to one of my most interesting finds. Wish I could put you in touch with him, but honestly I have no idea what became of the guy. Though it’s probably for the best, not a guy you’d want to deal with. For the most part, at least.”

_ Another dead end _ , Thomas thinks,  _ all these Flint nuts and no one knows the real story _ . 

Thomas watches the sky over the ocean. The pink reflects off the waves and he remembers the first time he saw it with James. 

As they drive across the bridge, Thomas gets one last look at it before everything turns into thick forest. 

As he loses sight of it, Thomas feels like he is leaving some part of himself behind.


	6. Chapter 6

“Fuck you, Thomas! You broke into the house, didn’t you?” Jack accuses.

“I, well-” Thomas begins. But he doesn’t have an explanation - at least not one that Jack will accept or even begin to understand.

“Oh, don’t try. Charles told me he picked you up on the island, how the fuck did you even know where it was?” Jack aska. “Oh well it doesn’t matter now. Shit, Thomas, do you even know who you’re dealing with? If he find out he’ll have my head for this, and then he’ll come after you!”

“Who?”

“The owner, James fucking McQueen, that’s who! Let’s just hope he doesn’t find out. You’ve really gotten reckless since college. Please tell me you aren’t going turn into one of those Treasure Island nuts.”

“Jack, that book is full of inaccuracies, written for children and based off stories told by sailors. Hardly anything to go on, besides there’s no clear documentation on where that treasure could have possibly been buried, or whether that ever really happened.”

“Right, right, you told me all this-” Jack continued.

As Thomas recovers from the shock of being accosted so first thing in the morning, the name Jack said earlier finally his  him.

“Did you say James?” Thomas interrupts.

“What? Are you even listening to me?”

“The man who owns the house, Jack! Did you say his name was James?”

“Yes, James McQueen, art explorer and nutcase extrordonaire. Do you know him somehow? Is there some conspiracy I’m missing?”

The world around Thomas stops. Jack’s voice fades into the background. A James owning _their_ house _. Could it be?_ he thinks.

“It’s interesting, you know,” Jack continues. “James McQueen is known for having the biggest private collection of Captain Flint-related artifacts and here you are, chasing after Flint’s story in his house. What a pair you’d make, if he wasn’t most likely to kill you first...”

“I’m sorry Jack, I have to go. I’ll speak to you later.”

“What? Thomas! You haven’t even had your tea yet-”

~~~

Thomas ran to his hotel room with every intention of googling this “James McQueen”. Instead, he now sits staring at a blank webpage. The cursor blinks in the search bar, tormenting him.

The uncertainty and fear floods his mind. What would he do if it is his James, and worse, what would he do if it wasn’t? James is such a common name, he argued that himself.

He knows half a dozen people that go by James, hell he even dated a James in college. But now, the only thing that fills his mind when he thinks of “James,” is the redheaded lieutenant from his dreams -  his truest love.

Nevertheless, Thomas takes a deep breath and dive in. His hands shake as he types up the name.

James McQueen is a very difficult man to find personal information on, and from Thomas’ initial finding, it seemed that the name is just a coincidence. The general consensus is that this man wasn’t exactly pleasant to deal with. Thomas is almost relieved. But he keeps searching.

To verify Jack’s statements, Thomas reads that McQueen is rumoured to have the greatest collection of Captain Flint artifacts in the world as well as a large collection of rare books including many first editions. Some of which, Thomas knows, have come from a particular house -  a house that Thomas once knew very well.

Thomas also reads that McQueen made significant contributions of historical artifacts to various universities but is never one for public appearances. These facts were usually mentioned at the end and buried between the other accounts, because the man is infamous for getting into fights of all sorts. Most of the articles date back several years but there are a few more recent ones.

A particular article from last year catches Thomas’ eye. The headline reads: _“Savannah’s redheaded inferno strikes again”_.

Thomas’ heart races. That is the first physical description he’s come across.

> _“It certainly isn’t news that earlier this week two men were sent to hospital after an unfortunate encounter with the redheaded inferno himself, James McQueen. Witnesses say that McQueen walked away with no more than a bloodied nose and bruised fists .”_

Thomas draws a breath. He pauses. That sounds an awful lot like the James Thomas knew.

> _“Living in New York these days, McQueen continues to make contributions to charities and education funds, but the long history of fights followed him into the big city, with reports of the madman beating up another art collector several months ago over some sort of personal comment. Many theories have arisen about McQueen’s methods, his otherwise reclusive lifestyle, and how exactly he managed to acquire such rare items._
> 
> _The big question now is, what the notorious art collector is doing back in Savannah after nearly a two year long absence? Given the major art exhibitions going on, the answer may be rather obvious. The popular story, however, is that he’s looking for some treasure buried by Captain Flint. After all, there seems to be no stopping the hot-headed collector when he’s onto something, he has the temper and conviction fitting of a pirate captain himself. ”_

“Fuck,” Thomas swears. He’s never read a better description of James in his life. Thomas scrolls down to see if there was an image. He clicks a link to the article about the original incident.

The photo isn’t clear, and is more focused on a man being patched up by paramedics. But in the corner, Thomas catches a glimpse of someone. Red hair and a bloodied shirt, his face blurred, but the way he stood and that build - _James_.

That’s _his_ redheaded inferno.

Thomas tries to find the most recent article. There’s one from several weeks earlier about James McQueen’s appearance at an art gallery opening in New York.

> _“Reclusive art collector and fire starter, James McQueen arrived at the opening in a rather unusual but smoking hot look. Although typically a black tie event, McQueen walked in sporting bruised knuckles with a matching split lip, wearing a dark suit and white shirt with the top several buttons undone without a tie in sight. McQueen spent the majority of the event with his signature brooding expression and seemed to have slipped out early .”_

Thomas thought briefly on the kind of life James would lead now, but now he can’t imagine anything else. He scrolls down further to see the photos.

Thomas gasps as he sees the first one. There was James. Though the description the article gave was accurate, it does no justice to the sight Thomas sees. James’ beautiful red hair loose, falling in his face. With one hand he’s brushing it back behind his ear where it curls around a gold stud. His knuckles are indeed bruised, and one is cut. The injuries look only a day or so old. Thomas’ attention is drawn to the rings on James’ fingers - they’re familiar somehow.

He scrolls further to see more photos. James posing awkwardly with some people, there are a few of him looking at art pieces, talking and gesturing with his hands as Thomas always remembers him doing.  

_If James was researching Flint, he probably remembers right?_ Thomas thinks. _But what if James doesn’t remember?_ He hasn’t considered that possibility. Thomas has come this far, and could it all be for nothing.

Hours later, Thomas finds himself reading conspiracies about the mysterious “James McQueen”. They range from ideas that the man doesn’t actually exist, but is rather a front for black market art trading, and a scapegoat for violent retaliation acts. Other absurd theories propose that he’s the head of the illuminati. One unpopular theory says that James McQueen is Captain Flint who happens to be an immortal highlander, killing other immortals across the years. Thomas laughs at that one - despite the absurdity that got one thing right.

He is really in deep when he finds a short thread from over a year ago, posted by a user who since deleted their account. It’s simply a link to an article, and once Thomas opens it he remembers hearing the story.

It was huge and all over the news when he was just starting his position seven or eight years ago.

_“Edward Marsh dies, leaving fortune to estranged son,”_ the headline reads. Yes, James Marsh, the estranged son, then twenty-seven years old, who left the family right out of school to serve in the Royal Navy. He was set to inherit the whole family fortune.  

Thomas skimz the article for a photo. There is James. He’s much younger then, and his hair is short. Thomas could recognize those features anywhere.

“James McQueen” is a recent development that started around five or six years ago. There’s no clear explanation of why James left the Navy, except that it was abrupt. Thomas has done enough research to know a missing part of a story when he sees one.

~~~

It’s reckless, Thomas knows. But he needs to see the house again, to get another glimpse, another memory of the happiness he once had there. And of _his_ James.

Thomas has to leave for New York in two days and this could be his last chance to see the place. He can’t focus on anything else. There’s nothing left to lose at this point.

Thomas know where the house is now, but finding his way out to the island in the middle of the week proved to be more difficult than he imagined. He should have just taken a cab, instead he decided to take public transit and finds himself utterly lost.

It’s early evening by the time he walks down the street he recognizes.

Thomas makes his way over the fence and towards the house as he did previously, entering with no issues.

Once in the living room, a chill runs down his spine. Thomas freezes -  Jack told him the place way empty, and yet, something about the place feels different today. It seems more real - there’s something Thomas can’t quite place.

Thomas moves towards the door, thinking that perhaps he shouldn’t have come here a second time. The floor creaks. He looks around, despite the dark he can make out that some of the furniture is now uncovered.

It’s far too late when Thomas realizes that he isn’t alone.

“Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?” a man yells from behind.

Thomas knows that voice, but before Thomas can realize what’s happening, he feels a sharp pain in his arm and back as he’s thrown against the floor. He finds himself pinned down, the weight of another man on top of him. Hands are around his throat strangling him.

Thomas opens his eyes to see the man, the fury in his eyes, a mess of red hair. And how quickly his expression changes from violent rage. His eyes go wide, horrified, as he looks down on Thomas.

“Thomas,” he says as he let him go. His hand fly up as he scrambles to get up and away from Thomas. “Thomas,” James gasps, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-”  

“James-” Thomas says, his voice hoarse. He tries to sit up, reaching his hands to his throat. He can’t help but cough.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” James continues.

“James, stop.” Thomas stands and reaches for the light switch on the wall behind him.

“You remember?” James asks. His voice falters, realizing Thomas is saying his name.

It’s then that Thomas catches a glimpse of James’s face, the expression makes his heart drop, the regret and the tears were building in the corners of his eyes. Seeing James like this is far more painful that any injury he might have just experienced. He takes a deep breath stepped towards James.

“Yes, James, I remember London, I remember the bloody plantation and I remember this house where we were finally happy together.” Thomas tries to take another step towards him. “James, please.”

“No, stop.” He backs away. “I hurt you. I’m a monster now, just like I was then.”

“No, you are no more a monster now than you were then. I broke into your house, I got what I deserved. You couldn’t have known it was me, you had to defend yourself.” Thomas continues to approach him. James stands still. “I remember you, I remember how you loved me, do you no longer feel the same?” he reaches out a hand towards James. “If that’s the case, then please tell me.”

“Thomas - No, I remember everything, I-”

Thomas steps closer and wraps his arms around James - who is hesitant at first. Thomas feels James wrap his hands around Thomas’ waist. Thomas holds James gently as he sobs against Thomas’ shoulder.   

Thomas closes his eyes and breathes a sigh or relief and starts to process what had just happened. The fact that James is _here_ , in his arms. He wouldn’t have thought their next reunion would go quite like it did, but Thomas doesn’t think much on that now because it doesn’t matter.

“I never thought I’d find you, I could only dream,” he whispers. Perhaps it seems inevitable now, that they would find each other again, even after three-hundred years and in an entirely different life.

“I’m sorry, Thomas, I’m sorry- ” James continues.

“Shhh, it’s alright, it’s going to be alright.” He holds onto James a little tighter. “I forgave you for everything you did long ago, countless time. What makes you think I won’t again? Now that I’ve found you again and I won’t let anything, especially something like this, get between us.”   

~~~

The sun had long since set and once James calmed down a bit, he and Thomas sat down in the kitchen to talk. James gave him a pack of frozen peas for his neck, apparently one of the few things he had in the freezer.

Although Thomas wasn’t about to admit it in front of James, his whole body was starting to hurt. He’d had enough of the frightened look in James’ eyes when he occasionally glanced back towards’ Thomas neck, where bruises were certainly starting to form. Thomas always bruised far too easily, and it was not helping right now.

James remembers everything, his whole life, their life together. Every detail. Thomas on the other hand, is only now starting to accept what was going on. Thomas could sense the tension in the room and James pulling away from him once he admitted it.

“It’s late, you must be tired. You should stay the night here, unless you’d prefer me to drive you into town?” James asks.

“I’d prefer to stay, if that’s alright.” Thomas could easily stay up all night talking to James, but he doesn’t want to push him.

James walks him up to the bedroom - but it isn’t the same room that they shared all those years before. The fact that he has to do that, the possible reasons, make Thomas’ heart ache.

“Here, take the bed. I’ll give you a spare shirt,” James offers, pulling a shirt out of a shoulder bag on the dresser.

“Thank you, but what about you?”

“There’s a couch downstairs, I’m fine. Goodnight, Thomas.”

With that, James leaves.. Thomas just wants to hold him again, to reassure him that it’s alright, and to kiss him. But he stops himself. James has been through so much more in this life and perhaps it’s best if Thomas lets James adjust to this - whatever this is - first. Thomas knows it might take time, and even at that, dealing with James after all the things he’s been through was never easy.

Thomas’s far more exhausted than he thought, after the day of chasing buses and walking across the island along with the shock of finding James. Thomas climbs into the bed. It smells like James, like home.


	7. Chapter 7

[ONE WEEK EARLIER]

James feels comfortable living in Hell’s Kitchen. Most people don’t recognize him - at least until until he gets into a fight. That’s one of the things he enjoys about New York, the sense of anonymity, no one pays attention to him unless he wants them to. He really needs it after his last major public appearance several weeks earlier.

Fleet week always brings back memories for James. But if he’s being honest with himself, he’s looking for a good fight. Perhaps one that might actually be a challenge, and there’s never a shortage of sailors to get angry at him. Nothing better to chase away the depression and loneliness like a good punch in the face.

He wanders down to The Two Tusks bar at half past ten that evening.

“Good evening, Hal,” he greets the owner.

“Oh no, James, you better not be looking for a fight in here tonight.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“Just, take it outside please. You broke several glasses last time, and although you may be able to pay for the damage, it takes me a week to get the replacements.”

James just nods, taking the drink Hal already poured him.

James met Hal several years earlier when he moved here and it took James by surprise. Hal didn’t even recognize him but somehow still put up with him in a way no one else did, just as he had before. James wonders about why exactly he crossed paths with him, perhaps another reminder of all his terrible deeds. Hal is that in the worst way - still somehow sticking up for him, unknowing of how his past life ended.

James sits staring into space, occasionally glancing up at the TV which shows a game he isn’t about to attempt to pay attention to. The place is packed. A woman comes over and tries to make an attempt to speak to him, but James brushes her off. He tries not to be rude, but he really isn’t in the mood for any sort of social interaction.

A group of Navy men approach to take a seat near him. They’re playing around, one steals another’s hat and tries to get away. One of them moves back abruptly, not watching where he’s going, and bumps into James, spilling his drink.

They all stop to look at James. “Oh sorry, sir,” one of the guys in the back says.

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” James says coldly to the man that bumped into him. He’s at least several inches taller and built as broadly as James. He considers for a moment that it might not be wise to start a fight with this man. Then James notices the stripes he was wearing.

“It was an accident, dude, what’s your problem?” he replies.

“Oh, right, you’re a Naval officer, my apologies. I should have expected it, you were probably too blinded by your own hypocrisy to see where you were going.”

“Ed, it’s not worth it, stop,” one of the guys at the back tries. But it’s too late, James locks eyes with the larger man.

“Well who the fuck are you to disrespect the Navy.” He takes a swing at James, and James leans out of the way, just narrowly avoiding taking the hit square in his jaw.

Several drinks affect the other man’s speed and James takes the chance to throw a punch of his own, sending the other man falling backwards. Perhaps that was enough, but James is never good at holding back when he starts fighting. He lands several more blows and takes a hit to his side before he hears Hal yelling and feels hands on his shoulders dragging him away.

Hal leads him to the kitchen and hands him some ice for his hands, casting him a disapproving look at every opportunity he gets. “Christ, James, you said you wouldn’t fight anyone this time!”

“I said that I would try,” James responds, perhaps more smugly than he should.

“Look, James, I understand your frustration with the Navy, but for fuck’s sake you didn’t need to throw insults at the first man that you see.” Hal sighs. “When you’ve pulled yourself together, take the back entrance and go home, there will be more of them out there who might want to pick a fight with you now.”

“Hal -” James tries to protest.

“Yes, I know you could handle it, but that doesn’t mean you should. You’ve caused enough trouble here tonight and I don’t want the police here.”

“Alright. Thanks for the ice.” Well, at least James knows he has vodka at home.

~~~

James wakes up still in his jeans, his head pounding and his hands aching. There’s a bruise on his side, it hurts more than he expected when he rolls over to get out of bed.

He makes no attempt to make himself presentable. His hair uncombed and out of its usual knot. He can’t seem to find the shirt he was wearing the night before anywhere. He puts on an old flannel because it’s rather cold in the apartment with the air conditioning - he forgot to turn it down last night.

James lies on the rug in the middle of the living room. It’s an odd ritual of his, it makes him feel like some moody teenager. It probably isn’t good, but sometimes it’s appealing, when he doesn’t feel like sitting at his desk. His focus drifts between the ceiling and the walls of replica paintings. There are three more in the works, but his hands aren't exactly in a good state for that right now. Or perhaps that’s just an excuse, after all James has done far more difficult tasks with far worse injuries.

How many art collectors spend their weekends laying around on the floor after getting in a bar fight and downing a good portion of a bottle of vodka the night before? Maybe some artists do, but probably no self respecting art collector, not that James respects himself anymore. It’s pathetic really, he thinks. He could have done so much more with his life, with this life. He isn’t even an art collector really, everything he buys he ends up donated or sent off to some collection, the only art in his immediate possession is his own work.

This is hardly how people would expect James McQueen to be spending his time. That name has  built a reputation for itself in the last five years. People barely question the story anymore, never considering that is was a broken shell of a man behind that name.

Before McQueen, he was James Marsh, not much different really, growing up in England and  going from one fancy private school to the next. His father would be laughing at him now if he was still alive. Who wouldn’t laugh at a man who ran away from the family at eighteen to join the Navy and try to make a change in the world, only to return a decade later in shame. With far too many nightmares and memories of a past life - a past life of being Captain fucking Flint, no less. Perhaps it’s best he has no one around, otherwise they’d think he was mad.

He can only distract himself now, try to help others make change while hiding out and trying to piece together his life. Perhaps, if James made different choices in the Navy - No. He tries not to think about it. Everything seems clearer in hindsight, but it’s too much, and how could he have seen the betrayal coming sooner? Of course, perhaps he should have known better, getting involved with another officer and caring too much when the other man was willing to do anything for a promotion. James tries to push the memories to the back of his mind.

James feels a tear escape his left eye and run down his cheek. He shuts his eyes, trying to gather himself again. He sits up with a groan, his shoulder aches from the hard floor. He must have spent at least an hour laying there. His head was spins. He opens his eyes to met the largest painting on the wall.

Victory, he call it. Perhaps after his victory of completing the piece more than anything. The scene shows a Spanish warship firing on a British fleet. James of course, took the liberty of adding a black banner to the mast of the warship. That fucking warship was so difficult to paint with all of its intricate details, he’d sworn off painting similar ships ever since.

James turns away from the painting and looks across the empty space. This apartment is far too big for him. He only needed a one bedroom, or two for the studio. But there were extra rooms here that James hasn’t even considered what to do with.

He finally stands up and slowly walks over to his office. His fingers brush the spines of the books along the wall. They meet the box, a simple white thing with the label “Meditations”.  

Just seeing that makes James look away. It’s a reminder of both the time he was happy in another life and all the things that he has lost. And all the things that he’s done so wrong.

James sits down at his desk and opens his laptop to see what the fuck is going on in the world today.

There;s an email from Abigail, the subject line just reads “ LOL ”. James clicks on the link anyway and is unimpressed by the article he sees.

 _“James McQueen, millionaire art collector, spotted shopping for furniture at Ikea._ ” Below, the article features a rather unfortunate photo of him in his ripped jeans and his hair only partially tied back, standing in the queue for the self-checkout. The article continues to speculate as to why he, having no shortage of money, is buying cheap furniture.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,“ he curses.

James remembers that day, it was last week, he was pissed by the lack of furniture and the piles of books he had scattered about the apartment.

He glances over the the unopened boxes, and sighs. Perhaps that will be the project for the day, until Abigail comes over with the catalogs.

~~~

“Fucking Ikea!”

James sits on the floor in the middle of the living room with a half assembled shelf.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Uh, James, it’s me,” Abigail says.

James reluctantly stands to let her in.

“James, what’s going on here?” she asks, gazing at the mess of boxes and shelves in various stages of assembly.

“The fucking holes don’t line up! How the fuck am I supposed to put these shelves together if the holes don’t line up? Who the fuck designs this shit!”  

“James, what happened?” she says, suddenly focusing on his hands. “Did you get into another fight last night or have you been wrestling the furniture all day?”

“Oh. These.” James tries to hide his hands behind his back.

“Those bruises can’t be more than a few days old. James, you need to stop getting into fights like this!”

“Abigail, if tell you that I am trying, will it make you feel better?”

“Honestly, no. You need to get some help, James! Are you going out again this week? It’s Fleet Week, I’m worried about you.”

“Well, that was the plan. Okay then, show me the catalogs.”

“Actually, I have something for you.” She pulls a book out of her purse and hands it to him. “I’m technically not supposed to have this, and you can’t ask how I got it, but I know you’ve been waiting.”

When he sees the cover he realizes exactly what she brought him. It isn’t supposed to be out for several more days. There’s an “advanced reader copy” sticker in the corner.

” _Buried Treasure: The Untold Story of Queer Pirates_ by Thomas Harper. Hot off the press, well, more or less. I know how you follow his work.”

“Abigail, I -” James just barely manages to look up. “Thank you.”

“You know, James, the catalogs can wait a few days, there’s no rush really. So if you’d rather read now, I can come back tomorrow or the day after-”

“Thank you Abigail, that would be perfect.”

~~~

Three months earlier when Thomas Harper announced that he was publishing a book about the 18th century queer pirates of Nassau, James’ heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Five years earlier, when James remembered everything, he spent weeks trying to find Thomas and wherever he may be. His search lead to Thomas Harper - an up and coming lecturer and author. Since then, Thomas made tenure, become extremely vocal in the academic community and published three books about queer overlooked historical figures and many papers and argumentative pieces in a variety of fields.

James spent many years contemplating whether to contact him, but everything suggested that Thomas was living a happy, successful life. James followed his work and thought that was the best he could get, until he learned about the new book. Thomas never said what exactly the book covered, but given the period, it was rather difficult to overlook James’ past achievements - although history did an excellent job of covering up the true story.

James isn’t sure if he’s delighted or slightly disappointed when he realizes the book focused on Max, Anne Bonny, Eleanor Guthrie and several others that James wasn’t personally familiar with. It’s incredibly written, beautiful work - he expected nothing less from Thomas. The careful attention to detail and the accuracy is amazing. Thomas’ technique is taking the reader on a journey, revealing the pieces of the story just as he discovered them, and showing how he came to his conclusions, never leaving out any important details. He’s never afraid to dispute other theories proposed in the past, even from well known historians. Some of the documents referenced, interestingly enough, were ones that James found himself.

It was nearly 4AM when James finishes reading.

James checks Thomas Harper’s website and notices the podcast interview he just posted.

He listens intently, Thomas’s voice is soft and confident as always. James closes his eyes and simply listens.

“...I’m not quite done with pirates yet. I’ve been researching something new, and I won’t go into detail, but it certainly is a story that hasn’t been told before.”

James sits up abruptly. Could it be? Is there a chance? Certainly this would be a good time to contact him. James can always offer to help with his research, he’s a bit of a pirate expert after all, even if Thomas doesn’t know who he is.

Yes. He will call him. His office phone number at the university is right there.

James’ hands shake as he dials the number.

The line rings for what feels like minutes. James considers hanging up several times before someone finally picks up.

“Hello, can I speak to Thomas Harper?” he asks.

“This is his assistant, El, speaking. Thomas is currently out but I can take a message for you?”

“I’m a historian based in New York, and recently read his book. I enjoyed it very much, in fact just heard his latest interview. I’d like to speak to him, do you have any idea when I might be able to reach him?”

“He’s about to go on a trip, but I can leave him your number. Sorry, what was your name?”

“It’s McQu -” He pauses, perhaps it was best he not give that name, given the reputation associated with it. “Marsh, James Marsh. Please let him know that I wanted to speak to him.”

~~~

The next few days go by agonizingly slow. James spends most of the day sitting in proximity of his phone. But there are no messages or calls. Perhaps Thomas never got the message, or he already left for his trip. Or perhaps he doesn't want to speak, that’s always an option.

James can’t do anything anymore except pace around the place. What if he remembers? What if he doesn’t? James isn’t sure which would be worse. He’s already writing about pirates, that can’t be a coincidence?

An idea pops up in his head. James grabs a shoulder bag and folds up some clothing. Perhaps this is some odd way of torturing himself, or perhaps his last chance to enjoy the place he was once truly happy - before his heart is inevitably shattered to a point he can never recover from.

         “Going to Georgia for several days. -J.” He text Abigail.

         “What about PEN next week???”

         “I’ll be back in time.”

         “OK need me to book flight or anything?”

         “No, just taking the first available one and staying at the house but thanks.”

         “Please don’t get into a fight! Have fun :)”

~~~

James hadn’t been to the house in a year, not since he was last in Savannah. The place is hard to visit, especially lately. As time went on since he started remembering what happened there, the most painful it became - the more realized he would likely never have that again.

James considers calling Jack and going out for a drink with him. But after the way they left things it’s best he doesn’t. James did after all threaten to kill him. James thinks of how he could have handled that situation better and been nicer to Jack, but he still has a three-century-old grudge on Captain Jack Rackham. Even if the man has no recollection of what he did.

James is happy to be able to drive around again, by now he knows most of the roads, and the places he won’t be recognized. If he actually stayed here for more than several weeks at a time, James would consider getting a boat. Perhaps one day he will sail down here from New York.

Even now the house seems too quiet, despite the birds chirping and the breeze through the trees. So empty, and not just because of James’ lack of interest in furniture. After all, James thought, _this place can never be a home again_ . Just as James could never be whole again, _not without Thomas._


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas wakes with a smile on his face and soft light shining in through the window of the bedroom. The soft breeze moves the linens like waves and Thomas embraces the familiar smell of the sheets. He reaches his arm over to the left side of the bed. 

Panic strikes when he finds it empty with no sign that anyone has been there at all the past night. He sits up in bed, his heart races.

Then it all starts to come back - the way he found James. 

He feels the sadness again, and he is almost afraid of the state he will find James in today. But at the very least, it’s real. James is real and has come back to him. 

Footsteps and the familiar creaks of the floors downstairs reach him. Thomas finds his smile returning. Thomas looks around the room to see a shirt on the dresser, pale blue and his size.

Slowly, he makes his way down the stairs.

James stands at the kitchen counter, dressed in the exact same thing as he was last night.

James lifts his head, watching Thomas walk down the steps. But Thomas can tell his mind is somewhere else. 

“Good Morning, James,” Thomas greets.

“Good Morning,” James responds. He shifts his weight to lean on the counter. 

Thomas walks up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. He feels James flinch and try to stop himself from leaning into the touch. Thomas leans in and kisses James on the forehead.  

“Thomas, wait,” James protests. He pulls. 

Thomas stops. He looks at James, whose eyes are focused on Thomas’ neck. 

“What is it?” he asks, trying to catch James’ gaze. “It’s alright, tell me.”

James just stands there, shaking his head, as if he’s trying to convince himself of something. He draws a laboured breath and closes his eyes. “No. Thomas, I hurt you. I should have known. I should never have reacted  _ like that _ .”

“James, you need to stop beating yourself up for this! It was an accident!”

“I accidentally left those marks on your neck? I think we have a different understanding of what is and what isn’t an accident!”

“I was an intruder in your house, possible wishing to harm you! You had to defend yourself!”

“An unarmed intruder, how much harm could you do? I should have known.”

“James, stop.” Thomas shakes his head. “You know, I clearly recall hitting you in the face once, before you had a good idea of my nightmares. I imagine you do too. Your nose bled all over the bed and we had a clear understanding that that was an accident.”

“That was different.” James still leans on the counter, staring down at his hands.

“Really? I imagine I must have hit you because I thought you were trying to hurt me, just as you thought I was an intruder in your house, possibly wishing to hurt you.” 

“I intended to be violent. You didn’t.” James says. Thomas feels the pain in his tone.  

“Oh no, I intended exactly that, and worse to those people there, far worse than you would to an intruder into your house. You’re a good man, and you aren’t capable of intentionally hurting me.” Thomas steps closer. 

“Oh, you don’t know what I’m capable of,” James laughs bitterly. “And I’m anything but a good man, and I’m sure we established that quite a long time ago. Not like you, that’s for certain. You deserve better than this.” James pulls away from him. It frightens Thomas to think of what years alone with his own head has done to James this time. All the guilt and the shame that Thomas had to help him work through before, it must have stayed with him.

“You loved me and I loved you, I remember that, and I might not remember everything, but you can’t deny that you still feel the same.” He can’t deny that, can he? 

“You don’t know what you remember.” James finally looks up. Thomas is caught a little off guard by those bright green eyes. “We don't even know what  _ this _ is.”

“Yes, James, I do. I might not know the details, but I know how I felt.”

James huffs. “We are different people now. You remember what you want to remember. Our emotions cloud our recall of events. Flashbulb memories, the ones we think are clearest ones, the ones you feel so clearly, they are the ones that you lose the most.” 

“Perhaps that’s because there were so many powerful things between us, and I’m sure there will be more. That only suggests that whatever it was that happened was so important, and so emotional that it made such an impact.” 

“Memories are corruptible, the more we think about them, process them, retell them, the more we change them. We shape them to what we want them to be, to the point where our idea of the events themselves aren’t accurate anymore.”

Thomas closes his eyes. He knows James can’t truly believe what he’s saying. If that’s how he feels, Thomas wouldn’t have found him like this. “Yes, well, then that isn’t just my memory that’s affected. You say you remember everything, when yours has been just as affected as mine.

In the end we’re standing here in this house and we remember each other, that’s all that matters. Besides, I don’t think that recalling one’s past life is an exact science.” Thomas approaches him again. “You know what I dreamed of just now? Us being happy together. Then I woke up and realized you were here, in this house, with me. And now I see that we can have that again.”

“Thomas, you’ve built yourself a life, you can be happy without me. You certainly deserve it.” There is is. It angers Thomas that James thinks that - that Thomas could be truly happy with anything else. 

“I could be infinitely more happy with you, James! I think it's quite obvious that our love was, and still is something else, perhaps something that transcended time and space, and simply one lifetime was not enough? James, you were inspired to fight  _ a war, _ to change the world after my death, and for ten years we both survived things that by all accounts neither of us should have, you can't look at that and tell me that I deserve better when there couldn't possibly be anything better than this, than  _ you _ .” 

“Before you remembered. If you had not loved me, in the past, your life would not have been destroyed as it was. This life was another chance, without me.”

“James,” Thomas says patiently, though patience is the last thing he feels. “You did not destroy my life. I loved you, and they used it as pretense to tear us apart and take away everything we had. But had I not loved you, had I never met you, I would still have sought to change Nassau, and those whom it inconvenienced would have found some other way to remove me. But your love, it was the thing that gave me hope, and strength, to survive what I did.”

“But in this life, without your memories, you could have started anew. I watched you from afar. You were happy. Successful. You have fame, and achievements, and respect.”

“And an empty apartment, and a cold bed,” Thomas retorts. “The only other living thing I live with is my plants, and I think those died long ago because I worked so much I forgot to water them. All I had was my disgruntled research assistant and an overwhelming sense that something big was missing from my life. I started having dreams of you, my memories coming back, of us, together, embracing, in the sunlight, and then I would wake to a dark apartment and an empty bed. Now I know, James, and I couldn’t possibly live without you in my life.”  

“You might have found someone else,” James says. Though he looks like the very idea of it might shatter him into a thousand pieces.

“There is no one else. There could never be. If I had to live my former life again, those ten years, the suffering of it, just to be with you again, I would do it,” Thomas says vehemently. “I would choose you, in any lifetime, in any version of reality. I would always choose you.”

Thomas steps toward James. To his dismay James backs away again. Thomas sighs, deciding that he will give James space for now.

James had been through so much before and it frightens him to think what it was this time that convinced him that he is so undeserving of Thomas. Who or what hurt him so much? Thomas is determined to find out. He feels the rage burning in him. 

“Are you hungry?” James says, breaking the silence.

“What?” 

“I thought you might want something to eat, I don't have anything here-”

“Oh yes. Breakfast would be nice.” 

Perhaps going out somewhere and spending some time together will be good for James, and help him feel comfortable around Thomas again. 

~~~

They don’t talk much during breakfast. Thomas is somewhat relieved at how uneventful it was. He notices the way James kept glancing around the place, staring at the door and shifting his weight just a bit every time someone walks past their table. 

It worries and frustrates him that he doesn’t remember much past their first few months together in that house. Thomas doesn’t know how to deal with this or comfort James. Not to mention the constant feeling that he’s missing something entirely. 

Their peace ends as soon as they walk out of the cafe.

“Thomas! You haven’t spoken to me since you said you were going to break into the house! I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere. Holy shit, Thomas - ” Jack yells as he runs down the street towards them. He pauses. 

Thomas notices his gaze drift to his neck and the bruises there. 

Jack glances behind Thomas, over to James. “Thomas, are you alright? What's going on?”

“It’s alright, Jack,” Thomas answers.   
  
“Have you seen yourself? But, you broke into his house?” he says, confused. “Wait, did you spend the night? Thomas-”    
  
“Well, yes, it’s complicated,” Thomas answers. A conversation with Jack is the last thing he and James need right now.    
  
“When is it not? Do you two know each other? What is this?”    
  
“Hey Jack, what’s going on - ” Charles Vance appears out of the restaurant, then focuses on James and Thomas. “Oh. It’s you. Is there a problem?”   
  
“Charles, I’m sure you know James McQueen and Thomas Harper. It appears they know each other,” Jack informs him.   
  
“Yes. I remember McQueen.” Charles stares at James. “Never got the chance to thank you for that Spanish gold find. You left so quickly.” They both paused, staring, and Thomas raised an eyebrow. Having studied complicated relationships, even he was getting confused about the connections going on in this group.      
  
“Wait, Spanish gold? Are you two hunting Flint’s treasure together?” Jack interrupts, turning to Thomas. “Didn’t those guys get Captain Flint’s treasure? Isn’t that how the story goes?”    
  
“Apparently,” Charles responds. “There was more left even after that. Though who knows how many times Long John Silver’s story was retold.”   
  
“All those stories, retold many times, twisted and distorted to fit a narrative,” James begins. The anger in his voice evident. “There is no telling what the real story is, and whether John Silver ever knew where that treasure was buried.” He says the name with such vitriol. Thomas has seen James’ rage before, but this is different.

“Well I imagine these two know more of the story than I do.” Charles adds, trying to avoid James’ rage. “It might be an interesting thing to look into, perhaps either of you might want to—” Charles begins then stops at James’ stare. 

“Come on Charles, looks like he's claimed that treasure for himself, no way anyone's finding that island.” Jack walks further away but Charles stays put.    
  


“Hey, Thomas, how would you feel about going out on a dig sometime? I could always use someone with your attention to detail on my team.”

“Oh, that would be interesting,” Thomas replies. “And I see you’ve read my book.” Thomas didn’t peg Charles Vance, treasure hunter, for a reader. He got through Thomas’ book in less than a week. 

Thomas iss far from naive, he can tell that Charles has been making advances towards him. Thomas chose not to acknowledge them, for James’ sake. But James has been so unresponsive. He doesn’t want to hurt James, nor was James ever the jealous type, but part of him wants to finally draw James’ attention. 

“Jack had it lying around, thought I’d give it a go. Anyway, I'll be in Austria excavating a Roman camp this fall. They say Marcus Aurelius wrote parts of his books there.” Charles starts searching his jacket pocket and pulls out a small case. “Here, my card, give me a call if you'd like to join.” He hands it to Thomas. “You too, by the way.” He glances over to James with what’s almost a wink.

“Well, I’m flattered. I’ll have to make sure I’m not teaching a class.” Thomas puts the card away. He tries not to seem too excited, but he’s always wanted to see some ruins.

“So tell me you really broke into his house? Twice?” Charles asks. He grins and motions towards James. 

“I did.” Thomas responds with a smile. But now he realizes he might have taken this a step too far.

“I'm impressed, I've climb into tombs and some supposedly cursed ancient burial grounds and yet that's one place I'd stay away from.” He casts James a sideways glance. “So tell me, what do you have over him? A writer and you're not in the slightest scared of James fucking McQueen.”

“Well, I  _ am _ taller than him.” They both laugh, but Thomas looks over to James who’s waiting patiently with a cold expression on his face. 

“You know I spent an awful lot of time fighting and running through swamps to find some stolen gold, then this guy here doesn't even want to keep a penny of the gold for himself,” Charles nods over to James. “Otherwise, I'm afraid there's some details McQueen here might not like me to share.” A smug grin forms on his face. “There’s one important thing I did learn then, that there are in fact some things that James McQueen is afraid of...” 

“You piece of shit! Fuck you, Charles,” James steps forward to stand beside Thomas. 

“Hey, you can, if you’d like. The offer still stands,” Vane teases.

Suddenly Thomas realizes exactly what happened between them. 

He considers that perhaps he is still asleep in his Savannah hotel room right now and this is all some sort of dream. Then again, he could not have dreamed up this exact combination of events. Thomas certainly misjudged this situation. 

“Am I right to assume-” Thomas stares at the two of them, finding himself at a bit of a loss for words, something that never happens. “You two? Really?” He gazes between them, Charles grinning and James looking furious already standing defensively, ready to fight. 

“I’d leave you two alone to sort this out, but I’m not sure whether you’d fuck of kill each other.” Thomas walks over to James, putting a hand on his shoulder. He feels James nearly flinch at the touch, but a moment later his posture relaxes.

“Hey, you’re welcomed to join, if you think we need supervision,” Charles responds.

“Enough,” James says. 

“Well, I have lunch plans of my own to get to,” Charles says, turning towards the cafe Jack disappeared into earlier. “Do call me, Thomas.”

Thomas turns back to James, studying the visible distress on his face. He isn’t even sure where to start. But he knows James will just brush it off. 

He wonders about the exact nature of James’ encounter with Charles. He wants to know what happened - not out of jealousy but rather curiosity and the fact that it might just give him more insight on what’s bothering James. But Thomas knows he has no right to ask, and now is not the time to bring it up. 

So they continue their walk back to the house in silence. 

James leads him onto the porch. He leans on the railing, trying to brush his hair back with one hand. 

Thomas studies James’ expression. He’s beautiful, so much more vivid now in the sunlight. But there’s a sadness about him that Thomas hates. 

“You know I won’t call him,” Thomas says.

“I’m sorry?”

“Charles. I’m not going to call him if that bothers you. I know he was flirting with me.”

“Call him. Do as you wish, I’ll be the last to stop you.” 

It hurts, to have James suggest to him so nonchalantly to pursue another. This is the man who refused to give up his memory for a decade, but who now seems too ready to let him go. 

“James, do you really think I would be unfaithful to you?”

“Thomas, you don’t owe me anything. You can do whatever you’d like with whoever you choose. I mean that.” James says it like just the thought would break him. “Besides, this isn’t about that, you can’t be unfaithful to me when we haven’t established what  _ this _ is. I don’t know what we are now.” 

“And I choose you, James.”

James closes his eyes, dipping his head and softly nodding. It hurts Thomas to see that James doesn’t even believe him. He stands there, processing.

“You don’t know what we are?” Thomas scoffs. “The only way you can say that is perhaps because there isn’t even a word in the English language to fully encompass what we are. Soulmates, perhaps, but that’s not quite right.”

James sinks his head further, still looking away.

“You don’t know what we are,” Thomas repeats. “A love that led to ten years fighting for my dream, even after my death and a lifetime together and you don’t know what we are now? You do remember that correctly, don’t you?”

James doesn’t respond. 

“James, do you not feel that way anymore? Has something changed?”

“You had so much taken from you before. You should have the chance to make your own choices, to be free and to move on from all that pain-”

“After only knowing me for a year and you waged a war against an empire in my name! You could never move on, so how could you ever expect me to move on after half a lifetime of loving you with full knowledge that you are alive?” Thomas raises his voice. “Do you think so little of me, of our love, that you would-” Thomas stops himself, feeling regret instantly. He knows that he is going too far and James has been through too much already.  

His head still hanging low, James stares down at the water below. Thomas could tell he’s holding back tears.

“I’m sorry James. I didn’t mean-” Thomas pauses. “Whatever it is, please tell me. I want to understand.”

James speaks, finally. “You know what all the fighting - what being Captain Flint - did to me-”

“Yes.”

“The nightmares, everything - well I ended up in the Navy again and things happened-”

“Yes James, it’s something called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I know.”

James just laughs, bitterly.

“There’s ways of dealing with that now, you know. We worked through it before without all that, we can do it again!”

James laughs again, but this time there’s tears in his eyes. He shakes his head, avoiding Thomas’ gaze.

“You deserve so much better than anything I can offer you,” James finally says softly. 

“I think I should be the one to decide that, don’t you? I choose you. Give us a chance, James. Please.” 

James gazes at him, longing, warring obviously with reluctance in his eyes. 

“Please. After everything, I think we deserve a chance, don’t we?” 

James closes his eyes, looking pained, the desire to believe warring with the hatred and the shame that was so familiar to Thomas.

“This new life is a gift. A chance for us to make a life for ourselves together, damn everyone else. Come with me to New York. We can learn to build a life together, like we did the last time we were reunited.” 

Thomas approaches, placing a gentle hand on James’ cheek. For the first time since their reunion in this life, James does not push him away as Thomas brings their lips together.

When they kiss, James holds him as if he cannot believe Thomas won’t vanish into thin air, and that is more familiar than the kiss itself. And when their lips finally part, there is the familiar glint of tears in James’ eyes that Thomas brushes away gently with his thumb.

James still looks away, he sobs but he doesn’t let go, but that is a start and Thomas will certainly take it. His hands still on either side of James’ face, Thomas kisses him again. James kisses back more enthusiastically this time, and the kiss quickly becomes more passionate. 

Thomas’ hand moves to James’ shoulder, and down his back. James pulls away when it reaches James’. 

James’ hand is around his wrist pushing his hand away. Thomas is in no way hurt, but it’s a strong grip. 

“Thomas,” James begins, still sobbing slightly, “I -” he pauses, “I don’t want you to miss your flight.”

“Don’t worry, I can always take a later one, it’s no issue.”

There’s another reason that James pulled away. Perhaps James needs more time, and if that’s the case, Thomas will be patient. 


	9. Chapter 9

They sit silently in the car on the way to Thomas’ hotel to pick up his things.

Thomas tries to process the events that went on since that morning. He finally kissed James, first softly, then more passionately, until James pushed him away and changed the subject with no explanation.

He bobs his head along to the song that plays on the radio, for a lack of anything better to do.

_“You’re listening to 107.5, Savannah’s top music station. Now, if you’ve been paying attention to the news, you will have heard that James McQueen, the redheaded inferno, was spotted at Savannah International Airport yesterday and seems to be back in town. After what happened when he was here last year, I wonder how long before a fight breaks out -”_

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” James reaches for the dial, turning off the radio.

“James-” Thomas reaches a hand out to James.

“No. It’s not alright. You know most of the things they say about me is true, right?”

“I know. but I hardly think they tell the whole story.”

“Perhaps they tell a better story than you think.”

“James, no. Whatever you did, whatever you’ve become, I do not care. Do you know why? Because I know you, I’ve know what you were always capable of, and you couldn’t have done anything that I couldn’t forgive and come to understand. There was always a part of you that gave rise to Flint, and then to James McQueen. It was always there, and I loved that part of you too. You can’t just love one part of a person and ignore the rest! Let me remind you of the story of Theseus’s ship, parts of the ship were replaced over time, but in the end it’s still the same ship.”

“This is an entirely different time, Thomas.”

“Yes, and that is certainly for the better. I know what the world says about Captain Flint, and I still love you.”

“We’re practically strangers.”

“Do you truly believe the things they say about James McQueen would turn me away? There’s no part of you I can’t grow to love."

James sighs. They don’t speak again until they arrive at the hotel.

~~~

The cool spring evening breeze of a New York City afternoon is refreshing after the heat of Savannah.

Thomas left the airport to find James standing outside, waiting for him, just as he promised.

Stepping into James’ apartment, Thomas has no idea what to expect. Thomas knows James isn’t likely to welcome guests, but the place the stands in is awfully bare.

Thomas is beginning to suspect that James has some sort of issue with furniture, given the emptiness of the large apartment and the house in Savannah. Though it seems like a recent effort has been made, given the new Ikea bookcases and unopened boxes on the floor.

The most interesting thing, however, is that the walls are completely covered in various paintings. Many of them were decent replicas of the ones Thomas has seen before. Others, he doesn’t recognize at all. One looks almost like a particular war scene Thomas saw back in London. Looking closer, Thomas notices that the small differences, the pirate flag on the mast among them. All the paintings have a similar signature that Thomas recognizes immediately.

“These are astounding!”

“Thank you,” James replies from the kitchen, where he started taking apart the takeout they’d picked up on the way here

Thomas studies the painting further. The details on the mast and the rigging are extensive.

“No, really, James, and the way you’ve mastered all these techniques. I can understand if you just followed one style, but there’s so many here - are you sure you aren’t a forger too?”

“Well, it wasn’t like I hadn’t considered it at one point. I’ve certainly been accused of it. I don’t exactly have the equipment or skill to consider matching historical pigments or artificially aging paintings.”

“Well, I guess you have considered it,” Thomas shoots him a sly smile. “I’ve read those tales. I suppose it’s a modern form of piracy.”

“Oh no, it’s far more complicated, I doubt most pirates would have managed to determine the exact ratio of-” James stops. He laughs. “Well this time I’m definitely not guilty of it.”

“Still, I think there’s probably a few art collectors you could sell one of these to without a great deal of convincing. As long as they aren’t familiar with the flags on the original,” Thomas points out one of the works. “Do you have more?”

“Oh, I’ve got a room full, if you want to take a look.” James leads him to one of the closed doors.

Immediately, Thomas notices one of himself dressed as he did back in London. There are many more of him, some covered with sheets. He looks at one - he’s posed much like the author photo in his last book.

He walks further, noticing one covered in dust. Lifting the sheet to see that it’s Miranda, sitting elegantly in a deep blue dress. Of all the paintings it’s the only one that was not only covered, but wrapped. Thomas knows exactly why. He’s reminded of the extent of James’ guilt, realizing how difficult this all must be for him.  

Thomas hears footsteps and quickly covers the painting again. He turns around to see James standing in the doorway.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but the food is getting cold,” he says, quietly.

“Yes, of course.” Thomas gently closes the door on his way out, deciding to leave that whole discussion for another time.

They eat dinner dinner in silence.

Thomas has an early morning tomorrow for his PEN festival presentation. James offers him his room for the night. And when James doesn’t want to share the bed, Thomas doesn’t try to protest or question it, not tonight.

**~~~**

_Thomas stood on the deck of a ship, the wind blowing through his hair and nothing but open ocean on all sides._

_He looked back, seeing James smiling at him. He wore a long coat again and looked incredibly handsome. Thomas’ mind couldn’t help but drift to things he’d like to be doing with him in the captain’s cabin right now._

_“So how’s your first journey at sea?” James finally asked._

_“Well, it’s not really my first,” he replied. That would have been the journey to the plantation. He hadn’t even seen the sea, or much of anything except the dark quarters they kept him in. Thomas pushed that memory out of his head._

_“I mean your first as a free man,” James continued. He smiled. “And as a pirate.”_

_“Quite lovely, Captain,” Thomas answered, smiling._

_“Hm, I thought you didn’t like titles,” James teased._

_“I just love the sound of it, Captain James,” Thomas teased back. “My Captain.”_

_“At your service, my lord,” James laughed._

_“Kiss me,” Thomas said like it was a command, the way that James told the men to sail the ship._

_“Here?” James glanced around._

_“Yes,” Thomas continued. “Right here, in plain view of these people that couldn’t care less what we were doing.”_

_James stepped up to the railing beside him, pulling him in by his waist._

 

Thomas wakes to see James gazing at him from the doorway. He smiles

“Good morning,” James says.

“Good morning, my love.”

“I brought you tea.”

The aroma of earl grey fills the room. James sets the cup down and sits on the bed beside Thomas’ feet, just out of reach.

“Care to join me in bed for a bit?” Thomas asks.

“I have to finish breakfast and shower.”

“Please? Breakfast can wait. I want to hold you,” Thomas pleads

“I’m sorry Thomas.”

James turns away. Thomas can’t see his face, but he can still read him. There’s fear there - Thomas doesn’t understand why.

“Your pancakes will be on the counter,” James says. He stands up and walks out the door.

Thomas sighs.

He has a plan. He stayed up far too late last night, staring at the ceiling and relishing in the smell of James around him. He originally wanted to make his PEN speech about his book and the importance of uncovering hidden stories, but now he has another goal. There’s something else he wants to say in front of that crowd.

He stands up and shuffles through his suitcase. He finds his grey suit and and a pale blue button down to go with it. He finds a grey ascot - a gift from Jack - it will have to do to cover his bruises for the presentation. 

~~~

James enters the auditorium, settling in in the middle near the center. He’s never comfortable with these sort of events, too many people and too much going on. He scans the podium, and finds Thomas talking to one of the other presenters.

Thomas steps up to the microphone and looks out at the crowd, finding James with surprising ease. His red hair is quite useful for that, James thinks and gives Thomas a slight smile.

The presentation begins. Thomas talks about his books and his research, presenting several documents and letters, then reading an excerpt from his book.

“Yes, my book is about forgotten history, it’s about stories, and it’s definitely about pirates and treasure, but at the heart of it, it’s about love.

“Love in the face of all else—Max and Anne Bonny both went through many terrible things in their lives, but they stayed together. Life wasn’t exactly easy for two women who loved each other in the 18th century. One owning a tavern and running a city, and the other a pirate.

“Records show Anne Bonny as having disappeared from all history shortly after she was sentenced to death in 1720. Some accounts say it was her family working in secret, others say that it was someone with a lot of power in Nassau pulling strings. Given the recently discovered letters dated many years after that, it seems that Anne Bonny ended up settling not too far from Nassau with the woman she loved.

“Of course, life wasn't easy for her at first, having lost many of the men and women she fought alongside, and having to make such a harsh adjustment from piracy, and disappearing more or less into obscurity.

“I think if anything, the story of Max and Anne Bonny is one of love and happiness despite all the challenges they faced. No doubt they must have hurt each other without intending to, but they worked through it, and a happy ending was possible if they were willing to commit to each other and work through it.

Thomas sets the book aside and pulls out something else.

“Now, I would like to read you something else. Though this book may be finished, I’m not quite done with researching pirates. I’m finding more and more that there are stories that have not been told. Whether a book may come of this one, I am not sure yet, there is someone I need to consult extensively first. This is a story of a man, two men in fact, who became pirates. A truly fascinating story of love and loss. This letter is one of many that they wrote to each other, from the very beginning of their story.

> “ _September 16th, 1705_ _  
> _ _James, my love,_
> 
> _I miss you. I can barely go a day without you, certainly not a moment goes by when I don’t think of you. I feel angry at the forces that keep you away from me. The sea, those other officers, and finally the society that at the time can’t accept our love._
> 
> _I want nothing more than to parade you around in public, much like I’ve always been able to with M. I want to kiss you in the light of day, not caring what others might do or say. Perhaps one day that will be possible. I still believe that, despite how much both you and M call me a stubborn optimist._
> 
> _But I do wonder about that day, when the world will have changed, and all that will matter is our love, and it will be appreciated for what it is. Just imagine it, James._
> 
> _Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all our letters could be published in the future in a more enlightened time. Then all the world could see how in love we are._ ”

Thomas stops reading. He looks right up at James.

“This was written three hundred years ago, and I hope with all my being that today is that more enlightened time.” His eyes still fixate on James. “When the love between two men no longer has to be hidden in the dark, but can be brought into the light. These two men loved each other, through separation, and death, and hardship, and were faithful to each other through it all. I hope today is that time when we can look on that love as a beacon, a light that illuminates our own lives and shows us what is possible.”

The presentation ends and Thomas goes on to answer questions. But James is still entranced by Thomas’ words.

People begin filing out of the auditorium. James remains in his seat, watching Thomas talk to the crowd that’s forming around him. Soon it turns into a line for book signing.

James takes the opportunity to slip out of the building.

He walks for several blocks, passing multiple people and walking down to the docs.

He stares at the cargo ships and open water. Here he is, in front of it again. Water has called to him since he was born, he’s dreamed about for it as long as he can remember. It’s a part of him.

For once the open space is overwhelming for James. The emptiness, the unknown, like the world is crashing down on him. Ironically, he never felt this way when faced with a typhoon.

How could he not be happy? He could have everything he wants now, and yet he resists. Like he always does, destroying every good thing that happens to him - and if he can’t destroy it, he’ll run away.

James sneaks into an alleyway, he’s familiar with this route, and he’s all alone.

Until he hears footsteps behind him.

_It’s nothing, just another person_ , he tries to tell himself. He can’t keep searching for threats every her he goes, especially with Thomas.

Suddenly the footsteps sped up, closer and fast, approaching James.

James takes a breath.

A hand brushes past his jacket pocket, and the next moment there’s a man’s neck under James’ forearm, pressed against the wall. A knife that had been in the man’s other hand falls to the floor.

The man lets out a high pitched shriek. Coming to his senses James realizes this is no man, but a boy, no older than eighteen. Hardly a threat, just a thief, likely with no better alternative.

James quickly lets him go and the boy collapses on the floor, coughing. He quickly gathers himself up and runs haphazardly down the alleyway into the street.

James remains frozen in place.  

His eyes drift back to the knife on the floor. _At least no one’s going to get hurt with that today_ , James thinks. James is all too familiar with knives, having been on both sides of them in bar fights.

James picks it up, flicking it around in his hand to conceal the blade. The blade could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.

In James’ hands.

Because James is dangerous, there’s no way around it. Especially now, when he doesn’t even have full control of everything. How can he bring Thomas into all of this?

Thomas deserves better. Fuck, Thomas deserved absolutely everything in the world, and James’ can’t even give him what he wants right now. No matter what, that lingering thought will always be there, haunting James.

He thinks back to Thomas’ words. He’s pushing Thomas way because of all the harm he could potentially do, but there’s no getting better without Thomas there.

There’s nothing for James without Thomas.

James knows how heart broken Thomas would be, no matter what, but wouldn’t James leaving him be worse? Perhaps James should give it a chance, and tell him everything. After all the things he’d done, Thomas always forgave him and understood. There’s nothing to suggest that he wouldn’t now. And perhaps it’s selfish of James, but wants to be with Thomas again.

The way Thomas looked at him, with something hopeful in his eyes. It almost breaks James’ heart, the amount of faith Thomas has in him.

Yes, he needs to give it a chance.

~~~

One moment Thomas has his eyes on James, the next he’s distracted by someone. When he looks back James is gone.

Thomas panics.

Did James run away from him? After that speech? Thomas can’t help but think the worst.

He pushes all the anxious thoughts out of his head.

He exits the auditorium for some fresh air. Then he spots James.

“There you are,” he says with a smile. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

James shrugs and gives Thomas a half smile.

“So, you have anything to say? Anything at all?”

“Yes, well you’ve given me a lot to think about,” James replies, bowing his head.

“Good things I hope.” James has never been easy to convince, but if Thomas is anything, he is persistent.

“I think you - I think we deserve a chance.”

It seems like a simple gesture, but it means the world to Thomas.

~~~

Thomas sits in the one lounge chair that James has in his apartment. James insisted.

James sits on the rug in front of him, between Thomas’ legs. His head leaned back so Thomas can comb through his hair.

James’ eyes are closed. He looks so peaceful, perhaps the first time Thomas has seen him like this in the last 300 years. He’s almost like a cat, wanting affection, curling up and half falling asleep from the touch.

James’ hair is soft, filled with loose curls. Thomas remembers how glorious it looked tied in a ribbon. It’s short now, but still long enough to comb through with his fingers, and Thomas is pleased.  

It’s a lovely moment, something Thomas has been craving for longer than he could possibly have known. But for James it seems to be something a lot more powerful, the way his brow relaxes from his regular furled state.

How long has it been since anyone touched James, or played with his hair? Thomas tries not to think about it. He’s here now and that’s going to change.

Thomas leans down and kissed James’ forehead. Thomas wants to do a lot more than kiss his forehead. But he’s going to take things slow and make James comfortable.

His phone buzzes. Thomas ignores it.

It buzzes again.

“Need to get that?” James asks. He leans up, awakened from his trance.

“It’s alright. I don’t care what it says right now.”

“You can check it. I’m not going anywhere.”

There’s three texts from El and an email with a link.

_“What the hell, Thomas?”_

         “ _Check the news”_

_“It’s about you_ ”

“I need to check the news, can I borrow your laptop?”

“Yeah, other room, should be on.”

Thomas opens the page to the livestream. There he is, just as she said.

“ _The PEN World Voices Festival is bringing many interesting people to New York this week. Among them is Thomas Harper, a professor at the University College London, who has recently been in the spotlight thanks to his new book_ _Buried Treasure: The Untold Story of Queer Pirates_ _. In his writing Thomas offers some new perspectives on pirate society, life, and love in the 18th century-”_

“Hmm.” Thomas turns to see James standing in the doorway with a slight smile. “I didn’t think you were a narcissist.”

“Well, my assistant told me I was on TV. I thought I’d have a look.”

_“But Thomas Harper isn’t just writing about queer romance; he appears to be living one of his own. It appears that he is in a same-sex relationship with James McQueen. McQueen, nicknamed by many the Redheaded Inferno, has a reputation for violence in both New York and Georgia, and when the two were photographed together in New York today, Mr. Harper was sporting some impressive bruises. It’s not difficult to put two and two together, and one wonders whether this is the fairytale romance Mr. Harper insists it is._

Thomas looks over at James, whose expression turns to that of shame and guilt.

“Pay no attention to that, James!” He closes the browser window and walks over to James. “I don't care what they say about us. They don’t know us! The only thing that matters now is what we think. James, listen to me,” Thomas pleads.

“Except they’re not wrong, are they? I hurt you, Thomas.”

“And that was an accident! We went over that!”

“That’s besides the point. I hurt you once. I could hurt you again. What happens then?” The pain was clear in James’ tone.

“James, we will work through this! I know that we will! We’ve done it before!” Thomas insists. They got through everything in the past, far worse things in fact. So why can’t James just give this a try?

“And nothing’s changed! I’m just as much the monster as I was before. You deserve better than this!” James bows his head.

“James, do you realize how hypocritical you are being? You talk about the people we are now, yet you live in the past!” Thomas snaps. “You spend all your time collecting mementos of what your life once was-”

“And you’re not? You write history books for fucks sake!”

“Yes, I write books! I tell stories that need to be told! I don’t horde information that I only plan to share with a collect few. James you’re obsessed with what happened in the past, and you’re not telling me anything! I’m right here, right in front of you, but you’re so fixated by your past wrongs and how people see you, it’s like you don’t even see me!” Thomas practically yells. His voice cracks as tears begin to stream down his face. “You pine for that old version of me, yet you push me away. And maybe you’re right, I’m not him, but you have to understand that things will never be like that again! We will never get back to the past, we can’t relive the past, we can’t right our past wrongs! We have to keep living, we have to move forward! We’ve been given this gift, we’ve been given each other, James!”

“Sometimes the past haunts us. It never leaves us. No matter how hard we try. So we fixate on it, because it’s all we can do. Because we can’t live our lives anymore.” Now it’s James who begins to sob.

“Oh, and I know that better than anyone!”

“No. You don’t.”

Thomas stares blankly. For once unable to speak. _How dare he_ , he thinks.

“Because you can still live your life! You’re living your life. You’re _functioning_. Do you see how I live?”

“But you don’t have to, James! That’s exactly what I mean!”

“You don’t understand, I _can’t_!”

“Then make me understand! Tell me James, what the fuck could it be? What could possibly be holding you back after everything! There’s nothing you could tell me that I couldn’t understand!”

Silence.

James spoke again, lowering his voice. “I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you. I love you more than anything, which is why I want you to be free and happy, even if that means without me.”

Thomas can tell how much it broke him to say that. How could he ever think that, how could he _believe_ that?

"I have loved you through separation, and torture, and slavery, and death. I loved you when I thought you were dead. I loved you as the feared Captain Flint, and I love you now as James McQueen. I have given you everything. Is that not enough for you? After all of that, is my love not enough for you?”

“No, Thomas-” James starts.

But Thomas isn’t about to let him finish. “How can you be so _selfish_? You keep saying you want what’s best for me, when I want nothing more than for you to give us a chance! How could you ever dare to think I could live without you?” Thomas yells, barely managing the words. He calms his tone. "I love you, and I will always love you. You're the only one I will ever want, but if you can't trust me and believe me when I say that, then I don't know what else to say to you.”

He walks right past James and out the door.

“Thomas-” James calls after him, but it’s too late. The door shuts behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heads up, this is the chapter with the implied sexual content between Charles/James  
> It's not super relevant to the rest of the plot so you can skip if you like  
> Additional content warnings in the end notes

[SAVANNAH, 5 YEARS EARLIER]

 

Starting a fight would be easy. There’s a cut on Charles’ jaw from James’ ring to show that. Yet, that smirk stays on Charles’ face, and James just wants to wipe it off with his fist.

But in all honesty it’s getting boring, they were far more interested in fighting over whose find the gold would be before they even found it. Especially now that it’s clear that James doesn't want to keep a penny of it. That alone frustrates Charles and James is satisfied in that.

Now here they sit, celebrating on opposite ends of the bar. A week trekking through swamps and digging under ruins and they decide to go back to fucking Savannah.

James looks over to see Charles talking to two girls. He’s using some dumb line or reference from some treasure hunter film.

James stares back at his drink then glances around the bar, studying the crowd. If James goes over there now and breaks Charles' nose that would surely ruin his plans for the night. At least save those girls some regret.

James knows he’s dangerously close to being drunk, but the reality of returning to that empty house filled with memories and ghosts scares him now. This project, and fighting with Charles, provided a much needed distraction and he isn’t going to just go home - at least, not without a fight.

James’ disapproving looks don’t go unnoticed - Charles is staring back at him. He gets the phone number of those two girls and wishes them both a good night. He makes his way over across the room towards James.

“Well, someone isn’t having a good time,” Charles says.

“And it seems, that you are?” James looks up, raising his eyebrow. He still questions Charles’ idea of a good place for drinks.

“I mean I could have been having a very good night. What’s up with you? We’re celebrating for fuck’s sake!”

James groans in response. Charles can’t take the hint to leave him alone.

“Hey, I could probably set you up with one of those girls, if you’d like? But you gotta lighten up first.”

“They’re really not my type.” James answers.

“Yeah, figures. Probably like nice British girls who read fancy books or something. Blondes, too, I imagine.”

James groans again. Charles turns to leave but James catches his arm, pulling him back.

_There_ , he thinks. He finally has it: a sure way to piss off Charles.

“Hey!” Charles says.

James stands up and grabs Charles’ shirt with his other hand, pulling him in for a kiss. He smashes their lips together violently.

It takes James a second - half blinded with this new form of warfare - to realize that Charles is kissing him back. James is taken aback. He expected Charles to hit him or at least be offended, not go along with it.

The worst part is that Charles is _good_ at this.

Part of James doesn’t want to let go. But he isn’t going to let Charles have this. He pulls away and studies Charles’ expression.

“Ah it all makes sense now, you want to fuck me.” Charles says, a smug grin returning to his face. “So, your place or mine?”

James curses under his breath, and walks away from him. “Oh, fuck off Charles.”

“What did I say?” Charles calls after him, looking disappointed.

“Just leave me alone.”

“What? You started it!”

James looks back to see him standing there in confusion. At least the confusion is satisfying.

By the time he makes it out onto the street, James finds himself with the same problem he started out with - the damn empty house is at least a mile away and he had way too much to drink. Perhaps, James thinks, and he hates himself for the thought, maybe he should have taken Charles up on that offer. At least, it would’ve been a convenient distraction.  

He contemplates it many times as he walks down the street. Anything was better and going back there alone.

James curses as he abruptly turns around and walks back towards the bar.

Inside, he finds Charles hitting on a young man at the bar. James walks right up to him and placed his hand on Charles’ shoulder.

When Charles turns around James pulls him in by the stupid vest he’s wearing and kisses him roughly. Pain rushes through his jaw from the impact but he doesn’t care. He bites into Charles’ lip.

“My place. Now,” James commands.

~~~

They practically crash through the door.

It feels like the worst sin that James can possibly commit, fucking someone else like this, in this place. The only place that is still holy to him. But James knows how he relishes in his self hatred, and how he just wants to feel _something_ after so long. And getting hit in the face just isn’t doing it for him anymore

James loses that train of thought as Charles bites into his neck. He can’t help but gasp.

Charles reaches down and grabs his waist.

Moments later James has Charles pinned against the wall, with his hands around Charles’ throat.

Charles moans. “Oh, I think I’m beginning to understand you,” he smirks

“You don’t know shit about me.”

“Well I know for some reason you don’t like being touched, and that you like it rough. I wonder what would happen if I did this.”

Charles’ hands fly up and suddenly James is the one pinned against the wall with Charles’ thigh between his legs. James panics, his heart beats faster, memories race through his mind. He tightens his hands around Charles' throat.

“Very rough indeed,” Charles barely manages.

James throws Charles down onto the floor. He pulls the knife out of his boot and jumps forward, straddling Charles, the knife at his throat. “Don’t touch me.”

Charles laughs. “You think you scare me?”

James thinks for a moment, perhaps this is his only chance to be with someone who won’t run off screaming. Thomas is long in the past, James is alone, and cursed to be so.

“So, what are we going to do here? Gonna fuck me or what?”

“Shut up!” James growls, pressing the knife down harder.

Charles reaches his hands towards James’ thigh and James swats it away. There are no further attempt to touch him on Charles’ part.

That's perfect. Part of James hates this, it’s everything he doesn’t want, but somehow it’s what he needs right now.

He uses his knife to cut open the stupid shit Charles is wearing. With the blade at Charles throat James bits his lip again and moves down to bite into his neck. Charles moans.

He slides the knife down Charles’ chest. His hand shake. James nicks Charles’ chest, just below his collarbone. Charles winces. That was unintentional, but Charles smiles.

James lifts the knife and blood drips down onto the floor - it’s like spilling blood on an altar.

Charles is still undeterred. James brings the knife back to his throat. With his free hand he reaches down and tries to undo Charles’ belt.

“Ah, you wanted to get in my pants this whole time?” Charles smirks.

“Shut up,” James growls. He grabs the bulge in Charles’ pants.

Charles gasps...

~~~

Charles zips up his pants and tries to put on the remains of his shirt.

He’s taking his bloody time. James can’t stand another minute of it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to suck your dick or something? I won’t touch you otherwise,” Charles says.

“Just get out.”

“I think I got you figured out now, McQueen.”

“Shut up.”

“Ah, yeah, I am right. This is your dirty little secret then. You like to fuck men on the side-”

“Get out,” James commands.

“Man, you sure are sensitive-”

“I said, get the fuck out of my house!”

“Ok, ok, let me just-”

James’ eyes are blurred with tears, and in the dark he can’t see anything. He grabs the nearest liquor bottle and throws it in Charles’ general direction.

“Aaah!” Charles screams as it his his shoulder. The bottle shatters on the floor.

“Ok, I’m leaving!” Charles opens the door and is almost gone. He turned around.“You’re fucking insane man. But I guess a good fuck is worth it.”

James slams the door in his face. The latch breaks.

James stands frozen.

When he’s sure Charles has left he collapses onto his knees.

Tears stream down his face. An unearthly howl leaves his throat. Like some dying animal in pain. James sobs.

He falls forward, his hands getting cut on the glass, the alcohol seeping into the wounds. It stings like hell, but he doesn’t care.

He collapses onto his side.

James cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for: violence, fighting, implied rough sex, knives/knife kink, implied self destructive behaviour


	11. Chapter 11

Thomas manages to get to the hotel on the subway with relative ease, but he gets caught in the rain. Not that he cares at this point. He’s filled with regret. The things he said to James, they were too harsh.

“Checking in?” the clerk asks as Thomas walks up to the desk. It’s no doubt the man notices the state of Thomas, caught in the rain, obviously crying recently. Still he only casts Thomas a bit of a sideways glance.

“Yes, for Thomas Harper,” he replies then gets out his wallet.

Thomas notices the large cat that’s walking across the counter over to him. The cat meows loudly.

“Oh hello,” Thomas says to him, “you must be Billy, I’ve heard of you.” He proceeds to pet the cat, who leans into his hand and purrs.

“That’s interesting, Billy Bones doesn’t usually like people.”

“Really? I would have imagined he approaches everyone like this.”

“Nah. In fact he’s a mischievous fellow, see that plant on the corner? He keeps knocking it over.”

Thomas laughs at that, and continues to comb through Billy’s luscious fur.

“Well you’re all checked in, here’s your card,” the clerk hands him his room key. “Do you need anyone to help you with your luggage - oh.”

Thomas left everything in James’ apartment. He’s stricken with guilt again.

“If you need any amenities or anything, you can call down to the front desk and we’ll bring that right up for you,” the clerk says with a look of sympathy in his eye.  

“Thank you,” Thomas says before heading towards the elevators. He doesn’t get far before Billy hops off the counter and runs over to him, drawing figure eights around Thomas’ legs. “Oh hello again. You’re sweet but you can’t come with me.”

“Suppose he wants to go with you. Actually, you can take him with you if you like, he’s had dinner, just let him out and he’ll find his way.”

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it. He’ll be safe with me.”

Thomas bends over to pick up Billy, who practically jumps into his arms. He’s rather heavy but Thomas doesn’t mind.

Once Thomas gets to the room, he lets Billy go on the bed where he curls up and continues to watch Thomas. If it wasn’t for the cat Thomas would probably break down and cry there on the bed himself.

He thinks about throwing himself back into work, back into research.

His mind keeps going back to the broken expression on James’ face when Thomas left.

Thomas finally checks his phone. He regrets never getting James’ number. Perhaps they could text, maybe that would be an easier way to talk about this.

He also has five missed calls from El.

Of course, she must have seen something about him in the news.

“El, hello?”

“Thomas, what the fuck is happening?”

“El-” he tries to protest.

“You go to Savannah, you tell me to research this man and then there’s this news of you? What is with you and redheads named James?”

“It’s the same one.”

“The one in your dreams? The one you thought was Captain Flint?”

“Yes. It’s complicated-”

“Thomas, are you alright?”

“I don’t know, El.”

“You’re coming home soon, right?”

“I’m not going anywhere without him.”

“Please Thomas-” there’s a frustrated grunt from her. “Ok this is probably a bad time. Look, you have a class to teach next month, and a book reading, just get your ass home soon. And then you better explain to me what the fuck has been going on with you these past few months!”

“I will, I promise.” Thomas says, but he still isn’t sure. What he really needs is for James to explain.

“I’ll call you later. Goodnight Thomas.” With that she hangs up.

Thomas has a whole other life, and all the responsibilities he’s been neglecting now. It’s unlike him - but now all of it seems so small, so insignificant. Nothing else in his life matters that much now, not without James.

He feels the anger again. Thomas feels angry at James and he doesn’t like it. But how could he? How could James ever think that he could just go back to everything as it was before without him!

It’s hypocritical really, three hundred years earlier Thomas told Miranda to take care of James and for them to live on, even without him, and that was the very last thing James was capable of.

Thomas sits on the floor. No, he was wrong, he shouldn’t have be so harsh on James - it really wasn’t his fault.

Thomas wants to make him understand, he wants James to finally open up and to see that now not everything is working against them.

He hears a meow and a thud as Billy hops off the bed and runs over to Thomas. Billy curls up in his lap. At least for now Thomas has this.

Space is good for now, even if it hurts. Neither of them is be in a good place to talk right now, it will only make it worse. Thomas will go see James in the morning.

~~~

James paces around the apartment.  

James realizes too late what he’s doing. He’d been so afraid of hurting Thomas but he’s gone and done exactly that.

Now he’s realized, far too late, that he can’t live without Thomas.

Thomas - who he never deserved, and who spent every part of the lives they had together trying to convince James otherwise. It didn’t stick, and in every life James deserves him even less. Even so, one fact still remains the same, Thomas loves him - for some reason Thomas still _wants_ him, even when he could have the world.

Conflict brews in him, a war raging between his wants and desires and his guilt. He wants Thomas so much but he’s so afraid, so guilty, fearing that he’s taking Thomas away from a better life. And he’s afraid of telling Thomas about _everything_.

Thomas was right, James is being selfish. He was so concerned about Thomas deserving better he forgot to consider that Thomas might want him just as much, even if James is broken.

He looks out the window, covered in raindrops, the city lights blurred. The lights that are always on in this city, guiding people. Just like Thomas is his light.

James isn’t about to wait. He will go to Thomas and he will tell him.

James steps outside and the rain continues to pour. He guesses Thomas must have gone to The Algonquin, he mentioned it on the way. It in’t too far, James thinks, as he starts walking, and then running.  

**~~~**

It has been an extremely busy day at the Algonquin Hotel. The place is packed with attendees of the PEN festival as well as tourists visiting the lobby. Daryll has only worked here for a couple month and he’s realizing he hates this more than his stint working as a barista at Starbucks.

He was put on a double shift that day and feels exhausted. On top of the usual disgruntled guests, he had to clean up _three_ spilled flower pots, courtesy of Billy Bones, the hotel cat. Thankfully Billy had given him the evening off when he insisted on going with the very sad man who checked in several hours earlier.  

It’s almost over, only an hour left and it looks like it will be a quiet evening.   

Of course, Daryll, soon realizes he’s entirely wrong about that.

He was just thinking about possibly slipping out early when a man comes in out of the rain. He’s completely soaked, like he walked across Manhattan in this rainstorm. His wet hair obscures his face.

Daryll felt a chill run down his spine as the man approaches the desk. When he brushes his hair back with one hand Daryll recognizes him immediately. James McQueen.

“How, uh, may I help you, sir?” Daryll asks, trying to hide his fear.

“I need to know which room Thomas Harper is in,” McQueen commands.

Daryll gulps. Thomas Harper had been the very sad man who came out of the rail and checked in with no luggage. This is starting to paint a very tragic picture to Daryll. “I’m afraid I can’t give you that information-”

“Do you know who I am?” he says firmly

“Yes sir.” Who the fuck doesn’t?

“Then I suggest you give me the room number.”

“I- I can’t, Mr. Queen. It’s hotel policy-” It is, and Daryll isn’t about to let him get that room number if he can do anything about that.

“What, do you want money, or-”

“Please, I can’t- ” McQueen approaches the desk and steps behind the counter. “Sir, sir, you can’t- be back here!” Daryll tries to protest but McQueen just keeps coming, staring right at him. He fears for that sad man, but he isn’t about to put his own life at risk. He’s read enough headlines about what McQueen does to people.

“Fine! The log book’s there! Please don’t hurt me!” he backs away, pointing at the book, letting McQueen look at it. As soon as McQueen’s attention os off him, Daryll makes a call for security. He stands there silently, praying that they will get here soon. And that they would escort McQueen out and that the sad man will be safe.

Daryll breathes a sigh of relief when two men appear.

Though his thoughts drift back to the news reports he heard, he doubts even two armed men would be enough.

“Sir, I’m afraid you need to come with us,” one of the men says, approaching McQueen.

He, shoots Daryll an icy look, and for a moment there Daryll thinks it will be his last. Then McQueen turns, backing away from the counter towards the men.

The other guard approaches McQueen and reaches for his arm. This will likely turn ugly, Daryll slowly backs further away.

McQueen pauses, glaring at the guard. “I suggest getting your hand off me if you’d like to keep it.“

“We need to escort you out off the hotel,” the guard says, although he lets go of McQueen anyway.

“As if you could,” McQueen scoffs. He turns and leaves out the main door.

“You ok?” the guard asks Daryll.

“Yes, I am.” Surprisingly, he is, even though he just had the shock of a lifetime.   

~~~

Thomas has long since given up on trying to do anything productive and is lost in thought and memories. He spent an hour sitting on the floor petting Billy, until even the little guy got tired of Thomas’ angst.

Or Perhaps he’s just too warm - he runs over to perch on the window ledge and waves his tail about.

Then Thomas realizes that there’s something out there that Billy is looking at.

Suddenly there’s a knock on the window. It startles Thomas.

The knocking continues. Thomas walks over to the window.

There’s a figure standing there. James.

Thomas rushes to open the window, trying to get Billy to hop down.

“James, what-” he tries but is caught off guard by the sight of James.

“I had to see you. Can I come in?” he asks, trying to catch his breath. He looks in, his hair wet, curling and sticking to his face. He;s soaked to the bone, his clothing clinging to his frame. How could he ask that, how could he think he isn’t welcome?

Quickly, Thomas gives him a hand and helps him climb into the room. The water drips off him and soaks the carpet.

“Thomas, I’m sorry,” he begins.

“No, I’m sorry James, I shouldn’t have-”

“Why is there a cat?”

“That’s Billy, the hotel cat. He’s quite lovely. Never mind him not, James-”

“Thomas, listen to me,” James interrupts stubbornly. “I was wrong. I love you, Thomas. I will never stop loving you. I was wrong to ever try to push you away. I should let you decide for yourself what you want. I would have hated to see the way people talk of you because of me. It terrified me, after everything that happened.”

“James, I-” Thomas is caught speechless again.

“You have proven your love for me far more than I could ever deserve. I love you, and I’m never going to let you go again, if you’ll have me back.” He pauses.“But you should know what you’re getting into. It’s not just my past life that haunts me. It’s also this one, and this time it’s - so much worse. There’s so much more to work through, and it’ll be so much harder, and I have to know that you’re willing.”

“I am. And I’m sorry too, James. I should have listened to you. You were afraid; you were _terrified,_ and you tried to tell me how bad it was, and I didn’t listen. But that doesn’t change anything. I still love you, and I still want to be with you, however hard it gets. We will work through it all. We’ll get you help. Doctors, therapy - there’s so many more options today than we had in our last life. And I will be by you through it all. I promise.”

Thomas wraps his arms around James, pulling him into an embrace. The rain from James’ clothing soaks into his but he doesn’t care. James buries his face in his neck, and Thomas can’t tell if he’s sobbing or if it’s just the water from his hair.

It takes him a moment, distracted by James’ professions, to realize how _cold_ James is. How much time exactly did he spend outside in the rain?

“James, we need to get you out of those wet clothes. You must be freezing to death! Did you walk here, what on earth were you thinking?”

“You know I’ve sailed ships into storms before, right?” He lets Thomas unbutton his shirt.

“That doesn’t change the fact that this too was an extremely impulsive and reckless idea!”

“A little rain doesn’t scare me.”

“You call that a little rain? Oh my God, James! What am I going to do with you?”

“I have a few ideas,” he suggests wickedly.

~~~

Thomas briefly leaves James standing there to go and let the cat out of the room.

A million thoughts race through James’ mind in the time it takes Thomas to walk back to him. He never would have imagined he’d end up here.

As Thomas finishes unbuttoning his shirt, James shrugs out of it awkwardly, letting it fall to the floor.

All of a sudden he feels the weight of Thomas’ gaze on him. James has never been shy, but now he feels so vulnerable, so _exposed_. He trusts Thomas more than anyone else in the world, but still he can’t shake that feeling of fear that starts to creep over him.

When he said those suggestive words to Thomas, he meant them. He wants this, wants Thomas’ touch, Thomas’ hands on his body as they had been before, so long ago. But now that those hands are on his skin, he trembles like a leaf in the wind, and his desire to be _with_ Thomas wars with the need, felt in every fiber of his being, to flee.

Thomas’ fingers graze the scar on James’ right shoulder. James takes a sharp breath. Thomas stares at it for a moment, and James hopes that he won’t bring it up, not now, not when this is so new and _so fragile_.

When Thomas traces his hand across James’ chest again, he flinches. He can’t help it, can’t help but be reminded of the last time someone touched him like that-

“James, are you alright?” Thomas pulls his hand away. “Because we can stop if you’re uncomfortable-”

“No, don’t stop,” he says quickly, “Please,” he adds.

Thomas draws back a little and looks at James questioningly. “The thing that happened to you in this life that haunts you, is it - James, did someone take advantage of you?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking of,” James says.

“We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want-” Thomas offers.

“I want this. More than _anything_ -” James pauses, considering how best to form his words. “But this isn’t easy for me,” he admits, looking down, not meeting Thomas’ gaze. “I _will_ flinch away, and my hands will shake, but I want this, Thomas, I do. I want _you_. I’m sorry it has to be like this-”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, dearest,” Thomas says, understanding. “I’ll go slow. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Hesitantly, Thomas puts his hands back on James. One brushes through James’ hair and his other is on James’ left shoulder. He leans in and kisses James’ neck.

James shudders slightly when Thomas’ lips met his skin. There is is again, that sinking feeling, still there despite how much James wants this, how much he just wants to _give in_ to Thomas’ touch.  

Thomas stops, looking to meet James’ eyes. “Is this okay?” he asks.

“It’s more than okay,” James responds.

Thomas leans in again and kisses the side of his jaw, lingering there for a moment. James closes his eyes. He wants nothing more than to lose himself in that moment, to let go and _forget_. To focus only on Thomas’ touches, his fingers tracing down his back, his so very soft hands and lips trying to make James feel comfortable again. To the clink of the metal buckle as Thomas’ other hand tries to undo the belt of James’ jeans.

Without thinking, James pushes him away. All he knows in that moment is violation, the feeling of his body being exposed by someone who wants to use it, to take from him. His breathing, he realizes, has quickened so that he pants more than breathes as if he’s just run here.

“James?” Thomas asks. His hands aren’t on James anymore, he realizes; he raises his eyes tentatively to see those hands raised gently before him, awaiting permission.

“I’m fine,” he insists, though it’s far from the complete truth.

“We don’t have to do this, James,” Thomas says softly. “I won’t be disappointed - ”

“But I will be,” James snaps. “I want this. I want to _have_ this.” He _does,_ damn it; this is _Thomas,_ how could he possibly not want Thomas? Even if his traitorous body seems to have ideas to the contrary. “Please, just - don’t stop,” he pleads. “I need this,” he adds, meaning it in more ways than one. He’d have to confront this one day, he knows that, and if not now, then when, if ever? How, if not with the love of his life?

“All right,” Thomas agrees. “Perhaps you should take the lead,” he offers.

James tries to steady his hands and reaches for Thomas’ shirt, grasping, trying to undo the buttons. He curses to himself at how much his hands were shaking now, at how hard it was to deal with those buttons. Thankfully, Thomas had already done half the work for him earlier, and he finally manages to slip his hands underneath.

Thomas is so warm, a sharp contrast to his own icy hands, and Thomas himself starts shaking when James touches him. He lets out a small laugh. “I guess you aren’t the only one who’s shaking,” he says. “God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed _you._ ”

James pulls Thomas in, one hand around the back of his neck, into a deep kiss. It’s artless, and sloppy, but Thomas doesn’t seem to mind as he brings a hand up to the side of James’ face, tracing his cheek and helping to steady him a bit.

When Thomas pulls away to finish taking of his shirt, James feels somewhat lost, like he can’t stand to be without Thomas’ touch again. Then he looks over to Thomas, who’s now naked and half hard. There in’t a single scar or mark on him, as far as James could see, and that thought makes him smile.

Thomas reaches his hand out for James to take. His eyes are bright and his expression is so welcoming, so patient, James feels some of the weight lifting off him and he wants nothing more but to follow him. James slips off his boots and lets Thomas lead him away from his pile of wet clothes and towards the bed.

Thomas stumbles backwards onto the bed more than he sits on it, sharing another kiss with James. Then James climbs on top and holds him down.

Thomas lets him.

**~~~**

The phone on the bedside table rings, and Thomas reluctantly reaches over to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Harper, this is the hotel manager calling. There was a Mr. McQueen here earlier trying to get your room number and we had to escort him out.”

“Is that so?” Thomas looks at James beside him. A smug grin forms on his face as he listened in on the conversation.

“Yes. We take the security of our guests very seriously here and wanted to make sure you were alright. If you would prefer a new room or anything at all, please let us know.”

“Well, I’m quite alright, thank you,” Thomas replies, as seriously as he can manage. Especially now that James is covering his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his laughter.

Thomas hangs up before anyone can get too suspicious.   

“Well, it seems you caused quite the stir here,” he says, smiling, looking at James. Thomas pulls him into a kiss, running his finger through James’ still wet hair.

James pulls Thomas down the bed and climbs on top of him, very gently holding him down by his wrists. “Are you absolutely sure, Mr. Harper?” he asks, and there’s just the slightest hint of real concern in his question. “That you don’t need rescuing from the clutches of the notorious Captain Flint?” he adds, teasing.

"Well, it seems I've managed to seduce this terrifying Captain Flint. He doesn't seem so fearsome to me, lying here naked in my bed," Thomas teases back.

James grins, and Thomas knew that comment (something)

“Besides,” he adds, gazing at James with his loose hair and bare, freckled chest. “How could I ever want to be rescued from this view?”

James laughs and sit up. Thomas took the opportunity to get his hands on James again.

“I’d be more than happy to be your captive, my love,” he says with a smile.

~~~

James lies, contented, on his stomach, basking in the warmth of the bed, the afterglow of their coming together. His head is pillowed on his hands; he is warm, and comfortable, and does not remember being this at peace for a long time. Not since - not since three hundred years ago, he realizes.

Thomas settles in beside him, brushing some of James’ locks from his face and smiling. It’s late, and sleep tugs him down into the depths of the bed – the exhaustion of the day, the excitement of finally being with Thomas again.

“I can’t sleep here,” James breaks into the contented silence.

“James, we’ve been over this - ” Thomas starts to protest.

“No, it’s not – “ he sighs, sitting up with obvious reluctance. “I’m not pushing you away again. I – ” he looks down. “I have nightmares. If I wake from one of them and you’re next to me, I will hurt you.”

“I remember the way you used to see threats everywhere, when you returned to me last time. I did as well,” Thomas says. “But I learned not to wake you when it happened. I know what not to do now - “

“No, that’s not - it won’t be enough.” James stands, not facing Thomas, and takes one of the blankets to wrap himself in. It’s strange, being shy with Thomas, but at the moment he can’t bear for Thomas to see all his scars, the marks that show what happened to him.

He heads for the minibar. It’s overpriced, doubly so in a hotel like this, but he doesn’t much care. His vast fortune could be good for something, for once. He pours himself a shot of whiskey, then a second one for good measure, suddenly cursing his carefully honed tolerance to the stuff, and downs it quickly.

Thomas says nothing to this particular proceeding.

He doesn’t want to do this, he just _doesn’t._ He wants to go back to that warm spot in Thomas’ bed and curl up to Thomas’ arms, but he can’t, and _this_ is why, and it will hang over both of them, getting heavier each day. Becoming harder to voice the longer he waits.

James leans his head against the window, the rain-battered panes cool against his forehead. He doesn’t have to see Thomas this way. Doesn’t have to see the pity on his face (not a condescending kind of pity, but he didn’t want it anyway). Doesn’t have to face the horror that will inevitably be there, or the anger on his behalf. He doesn’t have the strength to watch Thomas try to carry this burden with him.

“There was a man, before I remembered you. John. I was intimate with him. I trusted him, and he betrayed me.”

He takes a deep breath. He feels the whiskey now, a little bit, he thinks. Or maybe that’s the nervousness, making his head spin. Either way, he starts talking before he had a chance to think twice about it.

“There was a mutiny on the ship. It turned out John had orchestrated it. I tried to stop it, and he shot me. He took the credit for stopping it and I got the blame. They promoted him, and dishonorably discharged me. For _indecent relations_ with a fellow officer, that was the best Hennessey could do, he barely stopped them from court martialing me.”

The silence hangs heavy and stifling between them, and James has to fill it with _something,_ has to keep talking because now that he’s started, it’s less unbearable than the horrified silence of Thomas having no words.

“He’s the last man I shared a bed with. So if I dream of him, or I wake and there is another body in my bed - my mind won’t know it’s you. I _will_ hurt you. I cannot share your bed, Thomas. I’m sorry.”

He drags himself around to face Thomas, clutching the blanket to his chest as if it will shield him.

And Thomas - doesn’t argue. His darling, precious, wonderful Thomas understood, James can see it in his eyes - though he still can’t stand the horror and heartbreak he sees there.

“I’m going to kill him,” Thomas says.

James’ eyes flick up to his. He stares.

“You know I’m capable of it. That man will suffer for what he has done to you.”

James scoffs disbelievingly at him, but Thomas knows him well enough to see the hope shining fearfully in his eyes. Thomas feels another wave of protectiveness wash over him.

“You know,” he says. “I could call the manager back. Ask for a different room, one of those suites they have, with a sofa for you.”

“They’d see me, if we moved rooms,” James points out. “I didn’t exactly get in here the, ah, most orthodox of ways. I think security might want to have a chat with me after that.” He shrugged. “It’s fine. I was in the navy, remember? I assure you, a carpeted floor is more comfortable than some of their accommodations.”

“Well, here, let me help.” He strips the coverlet off the bed, and several pillows, then reaches for the closet, where, predictably, another blanket is tucked away. Soon, they create a cozy nest for James, a pile of blankets and pillows that didn’t look too uncomfortable, though part of Thomas still balks at the idea of James sleeping on the floor at his feet, like some kind of servant or a dog.

“Stop that,” James says. “You’re feeling guilty about it already. Don’t. It’s my problem to deal with, not yours to feel bad about.”

“It’s our problem to solve,” Thomas corrects him. “And we will solve it. We’ll get you help, for your nightmares and for the rest of it. I’m not letting you sleep on the floor for the rest of our relationship.”

James learned when not to argue with Thomas a lifetime ago, and he doesn’t protest this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not actually sure if the Algonquin /has/ a fire escape. It's been the question on our minds for over a year. I was hoping to go to New York and actually find out for myself but didn't get the chance. 
> 
> And I should mention the super emotional scene at the end is courteous of my lovely cowriter.


	12. Chapter 12

Thomas kisses Billy Bones the cat goodbye. 

“Enjoy your stay?” the clerk asks. 

“Yes, more than you could possibly imagine,” Thomas replies. 

Thomas walks out the front doors of The Algonquin. He takes a deep breath. The scent of the blooming flowers hit him. The birds in the trees chirp and the busy pigeons on the ground coo. Things are right in the world again. They are as they should be. 

“Stopping to smell the flowers?” Thomas turns to see James leaning seductively against the side of the building. 

“Why yes, I am.”

James laughs. 

“How was the long way round? Any traffic on the fire escape?” Thomas teases. 

“Not the first time I had to escape out the window in the morning after a passionate night with my lover,” James winks. 

“And what a night it was.”

“Indeed.”

“You should come to London with me, we can make it a regular thing.”

“London?” James stops, a frown returns to his face. 

“I have to go back, I’m teaching and I’ve got book plans. I-” He stops to look at James’ face. The horror on it. “My love, we can go back, we can do it, together! And it won’t be forever if you don’t want it to be. We can move back to New York, or Savannah, or any place you want.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” James replies. He repeats the words as if he’s trying to convince himself. 

“Now, lets head back to your place and spend the rest of the day in bed and leave the planning for later, shall we?”

“Yes, indeed.” James smiles and takes Thomas’ hand as they walk towards the subway. 

~~~

Thomas wonders if he should be worried about how quickly James was ready to abandon his life in New York. He’s not complaining of course. James made some phone calls and his paintings were packed away in one of his storage spaces, save a few that are on their way to London. The few other possessions that James has will be sent over in the next few days.  

James’ assistant called in tears of joy at the number of job offers she’d received. All a result of a few short phone calls on James’ part. Thomas had been the one to answer the phones. He wonders what the poor girl had to put up with. 

But now James is here.

“Oh you poor things, murdered by the fearsome pirate Thomas,” James says.

“Are you talking to my plants?” Thomas asks. 

He looks over to see James standing by the window. He isn’t wearing any clothing, naturally. His back is to Thomas. Those beautiful broad shoulders, held back, his posture perfect. The grey light of the cloudy London afternoon was a stark contrast to James bright hair, and pale skin covered in golden freckles. It reminds him of the views when he spent time in James’ boarding house.

“Well who else am I supposed to talk to if you’re working,” James teases. 

“Darling, I’m just writing an email, you’ll have my full attention in a moment,” Thomas replies. It’s a lie, James already has his full attention. 

“I suppose, if you must.”

As much as it pains him, Thomas turns back to the emails. There are hundreds to catch up on since he disappeared on his American adventure, and progress is slow. 

“Thomas? How’s that email going?” James calls.

“I’m just about to press send.”

“Well, send it!”

It’s rare that James is so impatient, not guilty or ashamed of what he wants, and Thomas isn’t about to keep him waiting long enough to reconsider. 

~~~

They walk holding hands. Thomas finds it exhilarating. Strolling the streets of London as they never could 300 years ago. James has been a big fan of hand holding since they got here. Not just to be affectionate, it helped calm him down and center him whenever someone walked by too close or moved too quickly. Thomas is just glad that he can help in any way. He’s already making notes to begin their search for a therapist for James. Things were going to be better for them soon, he can feel it. 

There’s a man taking photos across the street, Thomas could hear the shutter. He turns to see his pointing the camera at them. 

But James is already aware. He lets go of Thomas’ hand. 

Before Thomas can say anything James is running across the street - with no regard for traffic. Cars honk, brakes squeal, and Thomas’ heart races. 

“James! Stop!” He runs after him, as soon as he finds a window between the cars. “James, please,” he begs.

“Thomas! Thomas, where’d you get those bruises? What’s it like dating a man like James McQueen?” The man asks when he sees Thomas.

“Give me the camera!” James yells

“James!” Thomas yells.

It’s no use, James grabs the camera out of the man’s hands and smashes it on the ground. He grabs the man and throws him against the wall. James is easily half a foot shorter but that isn’t going to stop him. 

“James, please, stop!”

“Don’t you see Thomas, it’s never going to stop!”

“Yes it will, if we just stop giving a fuck what they say about us. They can’t do anything to us! James, please, let him go,” Thomas says. He takes a breath and softens his tone, “let this go, do it for me, please.”

James lets the man go. He races off down the street crashing into a sign or two on his way. 

Thomas walks up to James and places his hands on either side of James’ face. There are tears in James’ eyes. 

“What they think of us doesn’t matter. I love you and that’s all that matters, ok?”

“Ok,” James sobs. 

The truth is their situation with the press and media is starting to worry Thomas, but it’s not something he’s going to let James worry about, not after all the time he spent telling James not to care what others think. 

It’s still too early, things are fragile, even if they had a whole other lifetime. James still has too many insecurities he’s keeping from Thomas.

Thomas turns his attention back to what they were doing: walking to ULC to meet with El.

They stop in front of the building. 

“I think it’s best you let me speak to her first, can you wait outside?”

“Sure.”

He leans in and kisses James on the cheek. He heads into the building and up the staircase, trying to gather his courage. 

“Thomas, you promised me an explanation,” El demands. She sits at Thomas’ desk as he walks into the office. 

“Yes and I’ll give you one.”

“Good.”

“It was all real - the dreams, the stories, James -  _ my _ James.”

“You mean James McQueen is James McGraw who is Captain Flint?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re Thomas Hamilton?”

“Yes.”

“What? How? Thomas-”

“Past lives, reincarnation, soulmates, however you want to call it. It doesn’t really matter, but we know each other, we’ve been together before and we remember it.”

“Thomas, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, more than I’ve ever been, actually.”

“I don’t know if I can keep working with you,” El says. She lifts her hands to her forehead  and looks down. 

“Eleanor, you know me, we’ve been working together for years, but if you need some time-”

“Thomas, I always thought you were fucking nuts, but this is a whole other level.”

“Well then come outside and meet him for yourself!”

“What? Are you sure he’s there? Ok, you know I’ll take you up on that. I’d like to see this for myself, if only to prove you’re nuts.”

Thomas leads her to the courtyard where James is sitting and reading a book. 

“El, meet my truest love, James.”

James looks up and stares at El. 

“Eleanor,” he gasps.

“Yes-” She stares at him. “Holy shit Thomas,” she says. She stares at James and shakes her head. “Do I know you somehow?” she asks James. 

“I- No.” James answers. 

“How do I know you? I - I need to go - I need to go process this, somewhere, somehow...” El turns and runs into the building. 

“Well that went about as well as I could have imagined,” Thomas says. 

“That’s Eleanor Guthrie,” James says.

“Wait, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Well damn. That explains a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some very intense googling and social media searching at 5am when I couldn't sleep, I have discovered that The Algonquin Hotel does in fact have a form of fire escape structure outside. (You don't understand, this question has been bothering me for about a year and a half since I came up with the idea)


	13. Chapter 13

[TWO MONTHS LATER]

“When I read the name “Max” I thought it must be a man. Even I am not immune to prejudice and bias. There were hundreds of letters between Anne Bonny and this “Max.” Love letters. Anne’s never said much, often stating things plainly. But Max wrote passionately of Anne, sometimes in French. It was a most pleasant surprise that I discovered that Max was a woman. Not just any woman, the one who had all say in trade in Nassau. She had enormous power and sway. She did it all as a madam and through control of the governor.” Thomas looks out to the small crowd gathered in the bookstores. He looks at James standing in the corner, smiling brightly at him. 

“Now I know that the story of this powerful woman needs to be told. I leave the door open for anyone who wants to continue her story, for I can not do it justice,” Thomas continues. “I wanted to show that love in her life and Anne Bonny, how these two woman loved in loved in the 18th century despite anything that society had to say about them. They were not alone in it either, as I am constantly uncovering new stories. Thank you for joining me tonight in my favourite bookshop, _ Hallward’s _ , and listening to what I have to say.”

“Before I go, does anyone have any questions?” Thomas asks the crowd. 

“I have one!” A young man in a beanie and this scarf raises his hand. 

“Yes?” Thomas replies, gesturing at him. 

“You know you don’t really write history though; you write fiction inspired by history, right?”

“No. But do tell me, what makes you think that?” Thomas asks. Though he can probably guess the young man’s train of thought. 

“Love. Love like that doesn’t exist...”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Thomas wants to roll his eyes. 

“Love, or attraction, is the result of chemicals in the brain, released in different phases to create an attachment between two people so that they will procreate and further the species. Poetry, stories, all that is fake, it is a way for us to try and create meaning and a sense of a bigger purpose to all this. So when you claim to write about history, you;re getting it wrong. In fact, there really is no scientific purpose to homosexual-”

“Oh, I’m going to stop you there, because you’re drifting further and further away.” Thomas takes a deep breath. “Yes, brain chemistry is involved in love and attraction. That part is right. But that is Science’s way of exploring these things, attempting to create an explanation, studying these things empirically.”

Thomas looks over at James who was glaring murder at the young man. Thomas continues, “but to reduce these things purely to what scientific research has to say, would be entirely missing the point. Any scientist who has half an understanding of the point of scientific research will tell you exactly that. Things cannot be reduced to one view, on perspective or understanding. Look at something under a microscope and you’ll see the cells, the units that make something up. But with only that view, you can only guess what the full thing you’re looking at looks like. You won’t know the shape or form or feeling you get from what you're looking at.”

The man is now silent. 

“And you see that ‘fake’ poetry you speak of, it tells us of our life experiences. and stories have been something humans have been telling for as long as they have. It’s the way we’ve been telling each other information, the best way of telling eachother information, in fact. Love is one of the experiences that we share and choose to talk about with others. And how to be best express our love besides through our words? Through our actions, and both the actions and words of the women I speak of in my book show that they had a great love.”

Thomas stops to look at the crowd. The young man is slouched in his seat, everyone else is staring intently at Thomas. 

“If you don’t believe the book, than I can tell you right now, that I know such a love is real. It is because I have experienced it. I am experiencing it.” Thomas pauses, simply looking at James. “I love that man over there. His name is James. I love him more than anything in the world and would do anything for him. Don’t you dare try to dispute that.”

The crowd erupts into applause. But it all fades out as James walks up to him.

“James,” Thomas says, “I’m sorry about that-”

“No, Thomas, everything you said,” James says, “I don’t know what to say! I- I love you.”

Before Thomas can reacts, James wraps his arms around him, pulling him in and kisses him. 

There’s an array of gasps and cheers from the crowd. 

“Wow,” Thomas manages when they part, although James is still holding him. He blushes, trying to gather himself after that kiss.

“It was either this or punching that guy,” James replies. 

“I’m glad you decided to kiss me instead. And I know, I love you too.”

“Yes, that whole debate really said it.” James looks down. “I don’t know why I ever doubted you, why I tried to push you away. I should have just listened to you.”

“Well yes, you definitely should have just listened to me,” Thomas teases. “But if desire and logic, defense mechanisms, and the various frameworks human brains create were so easy to  navigate then nothing interesting would ever happened.”

James scoffs. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that sometime you need to figure it out for yourself. My job is simply to show you,” Thomas says as he brushes a lock of James’ hair behind his ear. 

“You certainly did, it just took a few times.”

“Well, you’re especially stubborn. I really needed to hammer the point across.”

~~~

James lies in Thomas’ bed - it’s still Thomas’ bed, not  _ their  _ bed, because even after many months, after doctors and therapy and locking the bottles away in the liquor cabinet and not touching them, he still sleeps in a separate bed, woken by nightmares, though less often now- and watches Thomas work. There’s nothing particularly fascinating about it, just Thomas reading, then scribbling, and yet there is – the way Thomas bites his lip in concentration, and plays with his hair, the elegant shape of his hand as he writes, his attentive expression, and James drinks it all in.

Thomas rises, finished with his work for the evening, and takes it to the desk, and that, too, gives James a chance to admire his elegant form. He stretches, feeling warm and pleasant and comfortable. Neither of them are in the mood for sex tonight, but lying in each other’s embrace in this safe haven of theirs seems like a perfect end to the evening. He longs for it tonight, Thomas’ embrace. 

Thomas makes his way back over to the bed, crawling in behind him, an arm reaching for him, to hold him close. Thomas’ naked body comes up flush against his, Thomas cock against his buttocks, Thomas’ gentle hand on his hip, moving up to James’ waist, and suddenly James is overwhelmed with panic. The hand on his waist doesn’t feel like  _ Thomas _ ’ hand, it’s someone else and –

“Don’t  _ touch  _ me!” he shouts, turning and forcefully shoving away the body beside his. He escapes the bed and stands, trying to breathe.

Slowly, the world returns. He looks up to see Thomas sitting up, hands folded before him as non threateningly as possible, waiting patiently for James’ panic to subside.  

“Shit, Thomas, I’m sorry,” he says as the familiar guilt starts to seep in. This is  _ Thomas,  _ gentle, sweet Thomas, who would never hurt him. He’d been working on his guilt, helped along by Thomas’ endless insistences that this was beyond James’ control, that it wasn’t personal and Thomas didn’t take it as such. But it was hard, every time he came back to himself, to realize that it was his kind, loving Thomas he’d pushed away in fear. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas reassures him. “What happened?” he asks gently.

“The way you touched me – it reminded me of the way  _ he  _ touched me, the last time we were together. He was behind me, his hands on my waist – “

_ They hadn’t seen each other in a week, that time, called away by their duties, and by the time they were reunited, James had been aching for the coupling of their bodies. John had shoved him against a wall, pressing his body flush against James’, and it had been more forceful than James had imagined that reunion, but he hadn’t much minded. He and John alternated between gentle and rough, neither too hesitant to leave bruises in the heat of the moment. If that was John’s particular mood that night, James didn’t mind obliging. _

_ Then John forced him to hands and knees, hands on his waist, and that too, James had liked. He’d never considered himself submissive, and this wasn’t submission, he wasn’t giving himself, wasn’t kneeling out of some devotion; it was – merely what it was, a particular configuration, one that fit well with the roughness with which John took him, and _ he had loved every forceful thrust.

_ “I love seeing you like this,” John had said. _

“Were you – unwilling?” Thomas asks tentatively.

“No. I told you, he didn’t take advantage of me like  _ that. _ But he shot me the next day and so the memory rather stuck.”

No, what John had done had been so much more insidious. He hadn’t violated James’ body, but he had wormed his way into his mind. It had been barely twelve hours after, when he’d confronted John, had tried to reason with him, had lunged at him in an attempt to contain him, except that John had pulled a gun and the bullet had gone into his shoulder at close range. He’d fallen to hands and knees, gasping and bleeding, as John walked away.

His memories jumbled after that, him on hands and knees, John’s “I love seeing you like this” echoing in his mind as he bled into unconsciousness.

And there it is again, that pain on Thomas’ face on his behalf, and anger, and none of it directed at James. Thomas is so  _ patient _ about this, and James is suddenly furious at John, at everything that’s been taken from them. His career, that bullet in his chest – they paled in comparison to the way John has taken  _ this  _ from them. He can’t fall asleep with his lover in his arms, can’t even be  _ held  _ by his lover without memories haunting him. Can never be held down, pinned against the wall or the bed as Thomas takes him, because no matter how much he wants it his mind will resist and his body will follow suit. And the worst, the uncertainty of it, never knowing when it’ll happen again, never knowing what gentle touch will wake the memories inside him. Never knowing if in the next moment he might suddenly hurt the man he loves.

“James,” Thomas urges gently. “I’m sorry I brought on that memory. I won’t touch you like that again. Would you like to come back to bed?”

He nods hesitantly. He  _ wants  _ to, but …

“What do you need?” Thomas asks.

“Can I hold you instead?”

“Of course.” Thomas lies down, letting James crawl into the bed behind him and pull him close. 

_ He  _ doesn’t flinch away as James’ hand traces his hip, as James’ body lines up against his, and James envies him, that ability to be so carefree. 

~~~

Thomas sits at his desk, filled with hope and ideas. He has a plan, one that’s been dancing around in his head for a while, but now he’s sure. 

He looks over at James. He’s peacefully asleep on the bed. Thomas managed to slip away just as James was beginning to doze off. He wanted to jot some notes down. He’s just barely covered by the sheet that draped over one leg.

Thomas can only look but not touch, for he knows how quickly that peaceful look can change if James is alarmed and thinks he’s in danger. 

Thomas sighs. Part of him wishes he could go over there, sit on the bed beside him, wake him gently by kissing his shoulder. Perhaps one day, it might be possible. For now, he can only enjoy the view. 


	14. Chapter 14

[EIGHT MONTHS LATER]

Thomas glances around the large gallery that was once a factory in Brooklyn, New York. The exhibition is one James put together himself. Half is filled with queer artists of old, works from his private collection, the other half new up-and-coming queer artists. There are of course, several works that Thomas knew to be James’ own, but are attributed to “Anonymous”. 

Thomas is drawn to John Singer Sargent's work of course, but there’s a new one that caught his eye - a work by an artist by the name of Linda Asher. A man stands with his hand over his face. The work’s colour scheme is muted, all but the dark crimson of the blood that drips from his hands and the gold and copper leaf that made up his hair. It reminds him of the halos on religious works. It’s simply titled: “Inferno.”

“I see you found this one,” James says. He appears behind Thomas.

“How could I miss it?”

“I met Linda in a bar in London.”

“Did you now?”

“I punched the guy that kept bothering her even after she said she was a lesbian. She cursed at me saying ‘I wanted to do that myself’. Nevertheless, I walked her out and she offered to buy me a drink somewhere else, she mentioned she was an artist and I may have helped her out.”

“And you seem to think you’re a bad person?”

“She insisted on showing this piece.”

“I want to buy it.”

James turns his head to stare at Thomas. He huffs. 

“What?”

“Your determination- ” James laughs. “Alright, I’ll talk to Linda.”

James kisses his cheek and gracefully moves through the crowd to other side of the room. 

Thomas stares at the work some more. It was almost uncanny.  _ It’ll look great in our new apartment _ , Thomas thinks, _ and it would make an excellent cover for my Flint book. _

“It always fascinates me when people paint the past, or write the past."

Thomas turns around. Before him stands a woman in a green dress, her dark hair cropped framing her jaw. A camera slung over her shoulder. Her dark eyes meet his. Thomas gasps.

“People devote themselves to things. And sometimes one doesn’t need to bare the weight of a story that isn’t theirs, especially when they have their own to tell,” she continues.

“I-” Thomas is at a loss for words. He stares at the ghost. 

“Amanda Asher, we’ve met before.” She smiles “It’s funny how fate works sometimes.” She reaches out to shake Thomas’ hand. 

Hesitating, Thomas shakes it. Her hand is cold, but it’s real. 

“Yes, Amanda. Nice to meet you again,” Thomas replies. 

“This opening is quite wonderful. It’s good to see all this work exhibited - an opportunity many of these artists would not have been afforded in the past. I see you admiring my wife’s old paintings.”

“Wife?”

“Linda. We’ve been married two years. It was nice meeting you again, Thomas. Give my regards to your husband.”

“Oh we’re not- I- I’m sure James would like to meet you-” He turns away from the painting to look at her, but she’s slipped away into the crowd, disappearing as quickly as she appeared. 

Thomas stares back at the painting. Somehow it seems to resemble James more every time he looks at it. 

“Linda wants to give it to us as a gift, but I managed to fight her into accepting payment,” James says as he makes it back over to Thomas.

“I think I just saw a ghost,” Thomas says, plainly. 

“Did you now? Well whoever it was better not be haunting you. Otherwise, I’d have some very stern words for them.”

“No nothing like that. It was some form of closure, I suppose.”

“Well good.”

Thomas tries to shake Miranda - or Amanda - from his head. He focuses back on James. 

“How does it feel to be back here in New York? It’s basically been your home until I stole you away to London.” Thomas asks. 

“It’s not, just another place I lived.”

“I guess London was your home then, no matter how you feel about it.”

“No. I grew up in London, but it was never my home, neither was Padstow, or Savannah, or Nassau, or New York. The sea was my home for years, but then even then it was still a means to an end.”

“Ah.”

“But you are my home. The only thing I’ve really wanted to come back to. Be it London, New York, or Savannah.”

“James-”

“Yes, Thomas Harper?” James wraps his arms around Thomas’ waist. He raises his eyebrow and looks Thomas in the eye. “You know I can have this whole place cleared out in a matter of minutes.”

“No. I want to kiss you right here. No shame, nothing to hide. Let everyone stare.”

~~~

Thomas wakes. The smell of coffee drifting into the room tells him James is already up. He looks over at the bed beside him, perfectly made. The new apartment in New York has been great, James feels much more comfortable here. But they are flying to London to do some interviews for Thomas new book. Thomas wouldn’t have bothered, but he had another motive for going back to London. 

Thomas stands and walks towards the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror and brushes a hand through his matted hair. He glances down at his neck, at the row of dark hickies - courtesy of James last night. He sighs. He would be wearing a scarf today. Not to cover bruises this time, far from that. For a moment he considers showing them off, telling everyone that he was James’. 

He brushes his teeth and wanders back into the bedroom. Listening closely to make sure James is still in the kitchen, he digs to the back of the dresser, pulling out a black velvet box. He opens it and looks at the ring, gold with several garnet stones set in it. Thomas walks over to his suitcase and hides the box inside one of his shoes. 

~~~

“In bookstores this month: _FLINT:_ _A true tale of love, treasure, piracy, and revolution_. Long before 1776 there was James McGraw. Captain Flint is perhaps the most notorious pirate ever known, both to fiction and history. It’s the best known pirate story out there - some you would think. But the reality is that we knew nothing about him at all. 

“In his latest book, Dr. Thomas Harper has revealed the story of Captain Flint, or rather, James McGraw - the man who became the dreaded pirate captain. The really story is far more interesting and complicated than anymore could have imagined, and in his usual fashion, Thomas Harper has inspired a hundred more arguments. Now, the big pirate question of the day is: was the war Flint was trying to spark at all feasible? James McQueen, an art collector, historian, and Flint expert has provided us with an understanding of all the resources available to Flint at the time for the purpose of the book.

“With us here today we have Mr. McQueen, and Dr. Thomas Harper himself. Now Thomas, I’m not even sure where to start, I’m sure we all have hundreds of questions. I understand that you wrote your previous book on queer pirates which was a massive success, but how exactly did you come across this information?”

Thomas stares at Steve, the host of the morning show. He agreed to the interview as a cover and is now wondering about the focus. “Well, I found a letter actually, that was what got me started in all this. I was just about to finish my last book and wanted to verify a few last details, The thing that caught my attention was that it talked about a man that Flint loved. That was what caught my attention, but then I looked at the letter in context. The whole purpose of the letter was talking about stopping a war, Flint’s war. This man, who I later learned was Thomas Hamilton, was at this plantation prison, and the whole reason for that letter in the first place was to verify that fact and use that information to stop Flint. Once I started piecing the rest of the information together, that right there told me that this was a story that needed to be told.”   
  
“For what I understand, Flint was close to a war that could have changed the world, and how much of a difference it really would have made is highly debated at the moment, but- ”   
  
“Whether what he did would have been successful or not is an entire question on its own, but it's important to remember that others would have been inspired, and just the chance that such a thing was possible would have made a chance. Someone needed to walk out into the dark with a candle and illuminate a path for others to follow, so to say. I am here to share this incredibly inspiring story centered around love. I have laid out the facts, but I will leave it to all those other historians to argue about the details.” 

“Well, since we have Mr. McQueen here, why don’t we explore that question further?” Steve glances over at James. 

“You know what? How about we don’t,” Thomas says before James can begin. “I’m sure,  _ my lover _ , James, could tell you all about that. But it’s interesting how so many people are now focused on the feasibility of the war, or the details of Flint’s battles when none of that is the point of the story. That wasn’t why I wrote this book.” 

Thomas rips the microphone off his shirt. “Come on James, I think that’s enough of that,” he whispers to James. 

He takes James’ hand and they stand up and leave. 

~~~

“Why don’t we take a walk?” Thomas asks as they exit the studio. 

“That’s an excellent idea, ”James replies.

Thomas takes James hand, and James leans into him as they walk down the snowy street. The trees are bare and everything is empty at this hour. Thomas breathes in the chilly air and tries to calm his nerves. 

James slows their pace and looks down. “Thomas, I can’t even begin to explain how much your book means to me. That you would do that for me. I don’t know how I managed to deserve you.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do. It’s a story that needed to be told. I think it’s something we both needed to happen.”

“Yes I suppose we did.”

Thomas stops and turns to face James. Gently he cups James’ face and kisses him. 

Wordlessly, they go back to holding hands and continue walking. The continue towards a park in one of the older parts of the city.

“You know when I was doing research for the book there’s a lot of things that came up. A lot of places of interest. Very few still exist. I think that might be for the best. Bethlem is gone - thank God - the Hamilton estate, also gone,” Thomas begins. “But there’s a place that really interested me. Whitehall. The steps on which we met. To my dismay the building was wrecked during World War II.”

Thomas leads James through the iron gates of a small sculpture garden. “I did read up on it though, I was curious about the location.” He stops in front of a stone bench, there’s a scratched out historic plate beside it. 

“Parts of the building that remain, they’ve become a sculpture garden. This sculpture garden.” Thomas reaches into his pocket to find the box he’d put there in the morning before they left for the studio. “It was on this spot in 1705 that we met. This was were it all began. How our story started, and how the world changed.”

Thomas kneels in front of James. Thomas watches as James’ face changes from his usual scowl to a surprised smile and his eyes light up. “And so, James McGraw Marsh McQueen Flint, my soulmate and truest love, will you finally do me the honour of being my husband, officially?” 

“Of course I would, Thomas. Yes.” James replies between sobs. 

Thomas begins to sob. He stands and wraps his arms around James. They kiss as a few bystanders who’d been in the park and witnessed them cheer.  

“Finally. But goddammit Thomas.” James reaches into his own pocket and pulls out a box. He hands it to Thomas. 

“Oh my God, you didn’t?”

“I did. I wanted to do it in London, out by the docks, near the spot of our first date, I even called in a tall ship.”

“James-”

“Well perhaps we can get married on a ship then. A small intimate ceremony.”

“What do you mean? I want a big wedding, in front on everyone.”

“Of course.”

“Know no shame, James.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE   
> (FlamingElmo.gif)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are much appreciated. 
> 
> I am very pleased to have finally finished this. This is probably by far the most personally emotional writing process I've ever had, and I doubt anything I'll write again will ever match this.   
> If you're still here from when I first started writing this, thank you for sticking around/giving this another shot!


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